


Chrysalis

by cunninglingus



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Dancer!Loki, Dark!Thor, Dubious Consent, Gratuitous Smut, Intersex Loki, M/M, Mpreg, Odin isn't a dick for once, Sexual Slavery, slave!Loki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-17
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-09 05:21:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 14
Words: 114,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1970511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cunninglingus/pseuds/cunninglingus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The aging, widowed Allfather has found himself a sweet little pet, and Thor's not jealous. Nope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dangereuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangereuse/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [Chrysalis：化茧为蝶](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3256562) by [Maryandmathew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maryandmathew/pseuds/Maryandmathew)



> If you’re squicked out by the Odin/Loki, rest assured that there isn’t actually any Odinsex in this fic, real or implied, although they do get a little cozy with each other. 
> 
> This is going to be rather twisty, I’m afraid, and my Thor is pretty dark. I have a huge boner for asshole!Thor, so sue me. I understand he might be a bit OOC for some people, but I'm sure his dickishness level will nosedive once he gets properly laid. *cackles* And Loki…..well. Loki is just a delightful little scheming turdface, I simply can’t sometimes.
> 
> I wrote this for my darling bb’s birthday, because frankly her brain is so twisty it needs ironing (ilu bb) and I needed an excuse to write morally dubious pornography.

Once upon a time, Thor would have welcomed anything that brought his father diversion. Stricken with grief, Odin has aged fifty years in the ten since his wife, the much beloved Queen Frigga, passed to the realm of Valhalla. No feast, no music, no dance, no merriment could lessen the deep, downwards lines creasing his face.

 

Anything at all would be better then the constant state of mourning Odin had sunk into. 

 

_Anything._

 

And then Odin came home from a retreat to Vanaheim with a little Jotun slave named Loki.

 

Thor’s not entirely sure how Odin came to acquire Loki - if the thing had been a gift, or if Odin had purchased him himself - but for whatever reason, something about the black haired runtling had caught his one eye, and they’d been near inseparable ever since.

 

Ah, but perhaps we should start from the begininng.

 

***

 

Their first meeting might not have gone so sourly if Thor hadn’t already been having a piss poor day.

 

Thor is hungry, and can already feel a throbbing pain beginning to pulse behind his eyeballs. Council had dragged on for an extra hour and a half, and there is only so long Thor can listen to Advisor Fjellir ramble on about tax reform before he absolutely, unequivocally, needs a drink. This is the last business on Thor's schedule, and Thor just wants to get it done as quickly as possible so he can excuse himself to his bath, his supper, and his slave girls.

 

“The Allfather, where is he?” Thor demands, charging into his father’s rooms with his papers, as he usually does, but perhaps with a tad more force than normal. Sensing his mood, the servants scatter like mice, which only exacerbates Thor’s snarl.

 

“Where is he?” Thor repeats. “Pela? I’m in no mood for this.”

 

“Resting, my lord," comes a reply in a voice that is much too _male_ to be Pela's.

 

Thor turns towards a lone figure, who stands up as Thor approaches.

 

“Who are you?” Thor asks bluntly, standing face to face with a lithe young man he’d never seen before. “Where’s Pela?”

 

The boy kneels all the way down, then gets back up, thus revealing his lowly station.

 

“I am Loki, my Lord. I am the Allfather’s new attendant. Pela has been released from her post.”

 

The boy speaks with a soft, lilting accent, melodic. He is not of Asgard, that much is certain. A slave, then. A foreign slave.

 

It’s only then that Thor notices the prone form of his father, sleeping soundly on the couch by the fireside. It’s a welcome sight, for Thor knows his father had been having trouble sleeping of late. He sometimes has difficulty breathing, and often coughs himself awake. Right now, however, his chest rises and falls in smooth pulses, utterly at peace.

 

Thor’s curiosity is piqued, and his eyebrow raises.

 

“Attendant,” Thor repeats incredulously, looking Loki up and down. Attendant, indeed. There is only one purpose for a slave this lovely in a king’s inner chambers. Thor doesn’t know why he’s surprised. His father’s still a man, after all. An old man, but a man nonetheless, and Pela certainly wasn't much to look at. It shouldn’t be his business what Odin chooses to do privately, and Thor himself has more than his fair share of lovers and concubines. Still, Thor wrinkles his nose. He doesn’t like the thought of his elderly father touching anyone, let alone such a pretty young thing as this.

 

“And I have only just got his Imperial Majesty to nap, so kindly lower your voice.”

 

The slave says this so casually, Thor would almost be inclined to laugh - that is, if he weren’t already feeling as though he were on the verge of causing a thunderstorm.

 

Thor’s face darkens.

 

“Do you know, slave, to whom you are speaking?”

 

“Apologies, most gracious Prince,” Loki does a token curtsey-like conciliatory gesture. “I meant no offense. My only care is for the Allfather’s wellbeing.”

 

“Indeed,” Thor mutters, hardly placated.

 

Thor takes Loki’s chin and tilts it up to inspect his face. It’s then that he sees the boy’s eyes are a luminous shade of green, lined with dark lashes. His features are sharp, yet delicate, and he possesses a most unearthly soft-looking pair of petal lips…….

 

“You are not Aesir,” Thor comments flatly.

 

“No my Lord.” Loki says, his lips curling up into a smirk.  

 

Thor frowns, disliking how Loki does not seem to be cowed by Thor’s size and station.

 

“What are you?” He asks gruffly.

 

“Jotunn.” Loki swallows. “I am Jotunn.”

 

Thor’s eyebrows shoot up. “A runt, then.”

 

Loki does not balk at the derogatory name; in fact, he looks rather….amused.

 

Thor tilts Loki’s face this way and that, gripping his chin more harshly now in an attempt to elicit a proper reaction from the boy.

 

“I’ve never seen a runt before,” Thor says, half to himself. “But I’ve heard Laufey keeps his harem stocked with the likes of you.”

 

“I would not know, your majesty,” Loki replies, “For I have never seen my native land, nor King Laufey’s icy halls.”

 

“I see.” Thor clicks his tongue. “Is that why my father keeps you? A little pet, to dress in pretty silks, sleep at the foot of his bed and eat out of his hand?”

 

Thor smiles darkly, but his barb clearly misses his mark, for this Loki-slave is hardly miffed; in fact, he almost seems to be suppressing a grin.

 

“Something like that.” he says.

 

Thor shakes Loki’s head in reproach and releases him with a grunt. Thor does not like the little slave’s tone, not one bit. If he belonged to Thor, he certainly would not be speaking so familiarly. But since he is Odin’s, Thor cannot lay a hand on him, and Loki must know it.

 

“Send for me as soon as he wakes, runt,” Thor says, “And don’t tarry.”

 

“I can simply have those signed when Odin wakes,” Loki suggests, nodding to the documents under Thor’s arm, “If that would be easier. I would not want to trouble you further.”

 

Thor stops in his tracks and cocks his head.

 

“What are you again?”

 

Loki pauses. “I am - the Allfather’s attendant.”

 

Thor growls. “Try again.”

 

Confusion knots Loki’s brow, his mouth opening and closing, clearly unsure of the answer Thor is looking for.

 

“You think you fool me? With that face, those clothes? You’re his whore. Now say it.”

 

At this, Loki deflates somewhat, and Thor squares his shoulders smugly.

 

“Speak, slave. What are you?”

 

“I am his whore.”

 

“That’s right. So listen well, whore,” Thor says, pointing a finger in Loki’s face. “You forget your place. I do not know what liberties my father lets you take, but you will not speak so freely to me, for I am the Crown Prince of Asgard, and I am king in all but name. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes, my lord,” Loki says in a small voice.

 

“Good,” Thor says, turning on his heel and storming out. “As soon as he wakes,” Thor says in warning, then is out the door.

 

 

_***_

 

Like the summer storms, Thor’s temper is quick to flare, but just as quickly runs its course. Loki is a passing fling, nothing more; once Odin has had his fill, Loki will be tossed to the brothel like so many used, discarded favourites. Shame Thor did not get his hands on him first, for the little thing has spirit, and Thor, despite himself, rather finds himself intrigued. Nonetheless, Thor manages to push the incident out of his mind, and distracts himself with food, drink, and by furiously fucking some of his own concubines.

 

Soon enough, his duties quickly turn his mind elsewhere. He’s been effectively acting as regent for Odin for some time, as Odin has been growing ever more feeble, easily tired and increasingly hard of hearing. For his part, Thor is young, strong, and eager for power. He takes to his duties with enthusiasm, already proving himself a wise and capable leader. On the sad day when Odin finally passes to Valhalla, there will at least be a swift, seamless transition of power. Thor is more than ready to become king in name as well as in deed.

 

Until then, however, Thor must obtain Odin’s signature and seal on most official documents. Thor meets with the delegation from Alfheim on his behalf, renegotiating old trade treaties and brokering marriage alliances between their realms. By this time, Odin’s approval is but a formality, but Thor likes to bring the documents to him himself out of respect for the aging king. For although Thor is eager to become a King in his own right, he still holds his father in high esteem, and wants to make sure he is kept up to date with Asgardian affairs.

 

Thor had never questioned whether or not the Allfather was still sound of mind until the day he came to visit his father, only to find the slave - _Loki_ \- in Odin’s lap, pressed chest to back, with an open book in front of him. Between Loki’s white silk shift and porcelain skin, Odin almost looks like he’s holding a little doll. Thor wonders, briefly, if Odin dresses him like that on purpose. Like a sweet, pristine virgin. Untouched - although Thor knows Loki to be anything but.

 

Seeing him so immaculate makes Thor wonder what he’d look like if he were utterly debauched.

 

Loki’s lilting voice pauses when he hears Thor enter. He’d been reading aloud to his master, which is not entirely out of sorts, for Odin’s one eye is not quite as sharp as it once was, and he has difficulty making out small script. That’s not what surprises him. Rather, Thor is shocked that Loki _is even able_ to read; and moreover, that Odin would deign to allow his slave to read to him.

 

“Erm,” Thor begins. “Father, I come with the debriefings from today’s meeting with Alfheim.”

 

“Good,” Odin says. “Good, my son. Set them there, I will look at them later.”

 

Thor eyes Loki warily, and Loki smiles angelically back at him.

 

“With all due respect, Father, I’d rather deal with this now,” Thor presses. “It is most urgent that I have your approval on these treaties before I proceed with negotiations.”

 

“Very well,” Odin says with a sigh, uncurling one arm from around Loki’s waist to reach for the papers. “Hand them here.”

 

Thor hesitates, pursing his lips. The documents are classified, and are not for the eyes of a lowly slave - especially one who can _read._

 

Odin seems to sense Thor’s trepidation and scoffs. “Come now, Thor, don’t be so suspicious. It is simply Loki, he means no harm. He’s a good boy. Aren’t you, my sweet?”

 

“Oh yes,” Loki agrees, holding Thor’s gaze unwaveringly, the ghost of a smile on his lips, and Odin nuzzles his neck in affection. The little snot, his very presence here is an insult! He does not belong here, among men, looking up at Thor as though they were equals. Equals!

 

“I don’t doubt it,” Thor says through gritted teeth. “ _Humor me.”_

 

Odin sighs, but concedes, patting Loki’s hip gently. “Fine, fine. Help me up.”

 

Loki sets the book down and climbs off Odin’s lap. It’s a book of stories, Thor notes. Fairy tales. What in Bor’s name is Odin doing, having a bedslave read him fairy tales? He must be succumbing to senility, surely.

 

Loki immediately reaches down to help support his aging master rise to his feet. Odin moves stiffly, heavily leaning on Loki’s slim frame, as they shuffle towards the large oak desk. Loki pulls out a chair and gently settles Odin back down, and Thor grudgingly admits the slave is tender in dealing with Odin, whereas Thor is easily frustrated and often loses patience with him. Somehow this only irritates Thor further.

 

“Alright, let’s see them,” Odin says, fumbling, patting his pockets, “Now where did I -”

 

“Here, majesty,” Loki says, reaching into the front pocket of Odin’s robe and handing him his monocle.

 

“Ah. Very good. Thank you my dear.”

 

“Shall I fetch your tea?”

 

“No, no. Quite alright. But perhaps Thor could use a drink, he looks like he needs to relax a bit.”

 

Thor glowers. “I’m fine.”

 

“Fix Prince Thor a drink. Go on then,” Odin says breezily, making a shooing motion. “I’ll not deal with him while he is so ill-disposed.”

 

Loki’s eyes shift fleetingly to Thor, then to his master, as if unsure.

 

“Straight brandy,” Thor says brusquely, and Loki rushes off to obey.

 

Thor and Odin wait in silence for Loki to return with the drink, perched delicately on a silver serving tray alongside two glasses of ice water. Thor takes the brandy and downs a generous mouthful, savoring the sweet burn. It is from his father’s liquor cabinet - the best collection in all the Realms. Thor vaguely remembers breaking into it as an adolescent and getting so drunk he vomited and passed out.

 

He waits until he catches Loki’s eye, then Thor licks his lips - an exaggerated, obscene gesture - until the slave looks away with an embarrassed flush.

 

Oblivious, Odin turns to Loki, fondness permeating his voice. “Now, pussycat, why don’t you go draw an old man a bath, and leave us to our boring business?”

 

Loki kneels down in deference then pads off to the bathing chambers as he is bid, leaving Thor and Odin alone. Thor doesn’t miss the way Odin watches him go.

 

Thor might be sick.

 

As soon as Loki is gone, Odin sighs, clearly exasperated. “There, you willful child, are you satisfied? What oh-so important, secretive news do you bring me?”

 

“You’re rather taken with him,” Thor says, cocking an eyebrow.

 

“Loki is good to me.” Odin says.

 

“I _bet_ ,” Thor says under his breath, knowing his half-deaf father wouldn’t hear it. He takes another gulp of brandy. “You should not indulge him so. A wise overseer knows, spare the lash, spoil the slave.”

 

“Bah,” Odin waves his hand. “Don’t you have better things to concern yourself with, than the affectations of my little slave boy?”

 

“He’s blinded you.” Thor spits. “You let your emotions cloud your judgement.”

 

“And you, Thor? What about you and that girl you so favored last summer? Velia? And the next, Kore? Do not think yourself so high and noble. You are no more immune to a pretty face than I am.” Odin barks. “Now come, give me what I have to sign, for I am tired, and have no energy for this nonsense.”

 

Thor frowns, but lays the documents in front of his father. Soon enough, Thor thinks, he won’t need Odin’s signature at all. The thought isn’t as depressing as it once was.

 

***

 

Thor’s not exactly sure what it is about Loki that grates at him so. Although Loki kneels and lowers his eyes when in Thor’s presence, there is still an air of haughtiness to him that is most unbecoming in a slave. Maybe it’s that he knows he’s utterly secure in Odin’s affections. Maybe it’s that he doesn’t seem to fear Thor. Or maybe Loki just _gets under Thor’s skin,_ plain and simple.

 

“Ah, let the old man have his fun,” Volstagg laughs, clapping Thor on the shoulder, seemingly oblivious to his ire. “Look at him. He hasn’t been this perked up in _years.”_

 

And, Thor hates to admit, it’s true: Odin has been smiling for the first time in recent memory, beaming at Loki in a way that Thor can only ever remember experiencing in his youth.

 

Loki slinks into the middle of the floor with sly, haughty smile plastered on his face, oozing confidence, as though he weren’t just another replaceable slave from one of the backwards, outer Realms. Loki bows emphatically at his master, then strikes a pose as he waits for the music to begin.

 

The zither starts first, and Loki begins to untangle himself from his veils, slowly revealing bits of pale flesh. A shoulder, a flash of green eyes. Loki unwraps himself like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis, then flares the veils as the music begins to pulse.

 

Thor finds himself watching the little Jotun dancer, and despite himself, is absolutely _mesmerized_. Loki has a certain flair to him that naturally draws the eye, made worse by his flimsy silk shifts and gold bangles he always wears. Loki moves as if he were always dancing: graceful, fluid and seductive, cat-like; but backed by music, he’s practically _lethal._

 

In a flurry of movement, Loki rids himself of the veils, then rises up on the ball of one foot and spins, twirling in tune with the beat and finishing with a high kick. He runs, does a graceful flip and lands effortlessly, his hair flowing wildly behind him. Somersaults, backflips, kicks of his long legs high in the air. Thor has never seen anything like it, and is certain no one else at court has either. The crowd is absolutely silent.

 

The music becomes more frantic and Loki dances faster, picking up speed, throwing himself to the ground and spreading his legs in the air. The rhythm booms, faster and faster, until Loki is a near blur, spinning and spinning, until the final crash of the drum, and Loki drops to the ground, as if dead.

 

There is silence, at first, and then the crowd erupts into wild applause.

 

Loki picks himself off the floor, panting, and even from his dias Thor can see that familiar smug curl of his lips. Thor’s awed face melts back into a scowl.

 

“Wonderful!” Odin exclaims, clapping wildly. “Wonderful, Loki my sweet.”

 

Odin motions for Loki to approach the throne, and Loki does, purposefully rolling his hips with each step. His skin sheens with sweat, but otherwise he is immaculate.

 

Odin receives him warmly, smiling down at his little slave as Loki kneels to the ground to kiss Odin’s ring. Then, in one swift move, Loki climbs up into Odin’s lap, something which clearly pleases the aging king immensely.

 

“It’s disgusting,” Thor mutters under his breath. “He’s panting after the minx like some sailor who’s been at sea for too many months.”

 

“Come now Thor, would you object if you had that writhing in your lap?” Volstagg laughs, nodding to where Loki is pretty much doing just that. Odin dangles some jewel on a chain in front of Loki’s face and Loki grins broadly in return, sweeping his hair to one side so Odin can clasp it behind his delicate neck. “He’s just looking for a spot of fun; it’s not like he’s going to replace -”

 

“Don’t you dare say it!’ Thor snaps, offended at even the suggestion. “This isn’t - this isn’t about that _at all_!” He huffs. “It’s not _that_ he’s taken to some concubine. It’s just that it had to be _that one._ ”

 

Loki whispers something into Odin’s ear and Odin laughs, caresses his back, the tips of his fingertips just barely grazing the pale thigh underneath Loki’s shift. Loki grins, his eyes flicking to Thor for just the briefest moment, before turning back to his master.

 

“ _See?_ Did you see that?! Brazen little hussy!”

 

Volstagg merely laughs. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were jealous.”

 

Thor scoffs. “I bed slaves like Loki every night. Even more beautiful than that, even. Loki’s kind are as common as alley cats.” He pauses, then adds, “And probably just as disease ridden.”

 

Volstagg waggles his eyebrows with a loose shrug, then excuses himself for a piss.

 

Thor folds his hands over his chest, scowling.

 

If that creature thinks he can best Thor, he will soon find himself sorely mistaken.

 

****

 

Thor manages to avoid both his father and Loki for the rest of the week. His father’s approval is only needed on the most important documents, so Thor’s signature suffices on most decrees. Thor buys a new concubine; he deserves it, after all, after everything he’s been through the last few months. A eunuch boy with long hair. Thor tries not to dwell on whether his choice holds some deeper, psychological significance. It’s _not at all the same,_ Thor tells himself, because the boy is appropriately humble in Thor’s presence, never once meeting his master’s eyes and laying still as Thor fucks him. Just the way Thor likes.

 

Yes, indeed.

 

Just the way Thor likes.

 

…..Alright, Thor is as frustrated as ever. But he’d never let on the reason why.

 

Within a fortnight, Thor has accumulated a collection of decrees that require his father’s approval, and although Thor could send someone on his behalf to have them signed, Thor would rather suffer through gritted teeth and blue balls than let some black haired siren get the best of him. Who is the Crown Prince around here? Loki should be avoiding him, not the other way around!

 

Thor storms into his father’s chambers, and is unsurprised to find Loki there, mending some article of clothing on a couch.

 

“You,” Thor says gruffly, already irritated.

 

Loki immediately sets his sewing aside and slides from his seat, kneeling deeply, his unbound hair cascading down like a veil of satin. Thor has a sudden craving to touch it, to see if it is as soft as it looks.

 

“Where is the King?”

 

“Asleep, my prince,” Loki replies softly, rising to his feet but keeping his eyes low. He’s learned that much, at least.

 

Thor grunts. Looks like he won’t get his papers signed until tomorrow; he would not dare waking Odin when he is in such desperate need of rest. He put this off for too long. Fjellir will not be impressed come tomorrow morning.

 

Ah well. Doesn’t mean he can’t toy with Odin’s pet while he’s here.

 

“And what did you do, little runtling, to put him to sleep?”

 

“I read to him.” Loki replies.

 

“Of course,” Thor sneers. “And what else?”

 

Loki’s blinks innocently. “That is all, my lord.”

 

At this, Thor face breaks out into a wild grin, and he begins to laugh uncontrollably.

 

“Ah, Loki,” he says, still chuckling. “Still clinging to that old story, eh? I must commend you, for never have I met someone who was either so stupid or so courageous as to lie to the Crown Prince’s face.”

 

“It’s the truth, your highness.”

 

“Right.” Thor says, his smiling face quickly turning back into a scowl. “You must think me a fool, if you expect me to believe that.”

 

Thor approaches Loki slowly, like a great stalking cat, but still Loki does not back down.

 

“Nubile thing like you at his beck and call?” Thor growls lowly into Loki’s ear, tugging gently at Loki’s sleeve to expose a sliver of pale shoulder. “So young, so _eager…….”_

 

Thor licks his lips. This close, he can smell Loki: of sandalwood and roses and something much muskier underneath. Thor’s cock stirs.

 

“You know I was watching you perform your little dance,” Thor breathes hotly. “Twirling, rocking your hips, spreading your legs. You like that, hm? You like being the centre of attention? Brazen slut,” Thor goes on viciously, “I bet you couldn’t wait to climb into his bed at night.”

 

“He’s lonely,” Loki says, and Thor almost recoils, searching Loki’s face for some jest or exaggeration and finding none. Thor is entirely caught off balance, and not quite sure how to respond. Odin is the much beloved King of Asgard; he is surrounded by servants and courtiers all day! He couldn’t possibly….

 

Loki merely shrugs. “He’s lonely and I keep him company.”

 

“I’m sure you do,” Thor says, quickly gathering himself. “Mend his shirts too, like a little housewife.”

 

Loki sighs, as though he were speaking to a dull child. “I told you, I’m his attendant.”

 

“You’re like no attendant I’ve ever seen, in your pretty little white shifts,” Thor grabs Loki’s braceleted wrist, “And pretty little jewels…..”

 

Thor’s voice trails off, and his brow furrows. The cuff looks familiar - embossed gold, embellished with emeralds and pearls. _Too_ familiar.

 

Thor’s eyes widen in recognition.

 

“Where did you get that?” Thor whispers.

 

Loki visibly startles at the sudden change in Thor’s tone, then looks down nervously at the gold cuff. He manages to wrench his arm from Thor’s grasp, and he rubs his wrist, as though Thor had maybe gripped him too tightly.

 

“Where did you get that?” Thor repeats. “Did you steal it, you little thief?”

 

“No -” Loki stammers. “No, your highness -”

 

“Then what?!” Thor demands, advancing on Loki until he’s crowded him against the wall and trapped him between his sturdy arms. Loki’s eyes finally widen with fear, and Thor triumphs in it. It’s about time Loki showed him due respect and deference.

 

“Did you steal it? Do you even know what that is?! Answer me!” Thor roars, punching the wall next to Loki’s head and cracking the carved plaster. Loki cowers in the face of Thor’s temper, clearly terrified. Finally, that smug little glint has been extinguished from his eyes, and Thor sees something raw and vulnerable underneath. For a moment, Thor forgets the purpose of his tirade, and instead envisions little Loki, meek and submissive, as Thor crawls atop him…..

 

“What is the meaning of this?”

 

Thor turns at the familiar authoritative voice, and while he is distracted, Loki takes the opportunity to slip out from underneath Thor’s arms and into the safety of the Allfather’s embrace.

 

Odin clasps his arms around Loki protectively, stroking his hair, and for a second Thor isn’t sure which of them he’s more jealous of.

 

“Thor, what is the meaning of this?”

 

“He is wearing Mother’s cuff!” Thor exclaims.

 

“Yes, I know, I gave it to him.” Odin says firmly, clasping Loki’s trembling form. He coos at Loki, “Hush, my dove.”

 

“You _gave it to him?!”_ Thor repeats, horrified. “My mother’s jewels?! MY mother’s jewels?!”

 

“They are mine to give!” Odin barks. “It is a waste for them to be sitting in a dark vault, unused, unappreciated. What else are jewels for, if not to be worn and enjoyed? Come now Thor, you are acting like a petty child.”

 

“I am not!” Thor says defensively. “Are you so blinded by your lust, you forget your dead wife so readily?”

 

“How dare you even suggest I’d forget my wife,” Odin growls. “Impudent boy! I have mourned her for ten years. I have shed my tears. Let me have this. Let an old man take comfort where he can.” Loki murmurs something at Odin, and Odin shushes him gently, “I know, Loki. Hush. I know. It’s not your fault, my sweet.”

 

Loki peeks out from under Odin’s embrace, and although his hands are covering half his face, Thor could _swear_ he’s grinning. That _whore._ That little whore!

 

“I will not see my mother’s jewels on that slut!”

 

“You watch your tongue,” Odin says in warning. “Loki is my slave, and these are my jewels, and while I am King, I will do with him what I like.”

 

“Fine,” Thor hisses, overturning a nearby sidetable. “Fine, you senile old man. Do what you will, dote on your pet. I care not.”

 

Thor storms out, before he witnesses any more. He’s livid, utterly enraged, and can already feel a storm brewing outside. He’s also still somewhat hard, which is never a good combination.

 

That scheming rat. He’s poisoning Odin’s mind, somehow! That must be it. How else could he have so deeply wormed his way into the Allfather’s affections?

 

Thor’s pissy mood lasts all through the night and the next day; not even a very thorough fucking brings him any satisfaction. The problem, Thor realizes, is that he doesn’t want any of his concubines, nor any of his slaves. Not even the most seasoned brothel whore could bring him any relief. There is only one thing that will scratch his itch, and Thor can’t even have it.

 

Thor sulks.

 

And he sulks.

 

He departs to Vanaheim to attend the centennial of their Queen’s reign, and can barely muster any enthusiasm at all for the feasting and the dancing. Odin is an old man and a fool; and Loki nothing but his vapid little lapdog.

 

Strange how fate sometimes works, because just as Thor’s ire reaches near unfathomable proportions, a messenger from Asgard arrives with urgent news: the Allfather has unexpectedly fallen into the Odinsleep.

 

Thor is appropriately grim in public, but as soon as he’s alone, a toothy grin nearly cracks his face.

 

Thor is now, officially, King of Asgard.

 

And that means Loki is _his._

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok ok i know i promised twisty sex. and it’s coming! But can I at least get a hollaaaa for updating so quickly???  
> i just NEEDED to have a bit about loki being a turd. it was very, very necessary.
> 
> I may or may not have watched too much dance moms while writing this.  
> 

Loki stands in front of the mirror in Odin’s sitting room, staring at his own reflection, and taking a brief moment to scowl at his outfit. The minute he gets home, he’s changing into something more _substantial._

 

He reaches out to the mirror and strokes the glass with the tips of his fingertips, dragging them down and up in a practised pattern until the surface of the glass begins to frost over. The frost spreads, coating the mirror, until it’s entirely frozen. Loki hastily looks over his shoulder. He should have been more careful to clear the room before casting the spell. If he were caught using magic……

 

Loki waits, cracking his knuckles anxiously.

 

“Come on,” he whispers under his breath. “Come on.”

 

It takes a few minutes to connect, but then the familiar blue face of his brother materializes in the icy surface.

 

“Open the gateway,” Loki says immediately, without preamble. They never cared much for pleasantries, anyway.

 

“Loki,” Helblindi growls, happy to see him as ever. “Why do you summon me now? I told you last time, the call should only be used for emergencies. You know this.”

 

“This _is_ an emergency. The mission has been compromised. You have to get me out of Asgard.”

 

Helblindi’s face darkens. “What did you do?”

 

“Nothing!” Loki says defensively, running his hands through his hair in a vain attempt to compose himself. “It was going perfectly well until……..Odin has fallen into the Odinsleep.”

 

At this, Helblindi pauses. “Really?” he says, stroking the raised lines on his jaw. “How long?”

 

“A few hours, at most. It hasn’t yet been announced publicly.”

 

“Hmmmm,” Helblindi hums, considering. “That is certainly _unexpected._ Thought for sure he’d have another fifteen, twenty years in him. How unfortunate for you.”

 

“Yes, well,” Loki laughs darkly, “I can’t proceed like this. I need you to open your gateway. I need to get out of Asgard. _Now.”_

 

“Impossible, I’m afraid.” Helblindi replies dismissively. “The risk is too great. With Odin asleep, everything will be uprooted. People are watching. I should not ever be speaking to you now, and your sudden disappearance would be a cause of great suspicion. Why are you acting so shocked? You knew this was a possibility when you left.”

 

“You don’t understand,” Loki hisses, “I can’t be here when Thor returns. I _can’t.”_

 

“Ahhhh,” Helblindi says, red eyes glinting. “Made enemies, have you? You always were careless. Brilliant, but careless. I knew you would be your own undoing.”

 

“I was close. Helblindi, please. I almost had it - _”_

 

Helblindi is clearly unmoved. “What good is that to me? _Almost?_ Laufey will not accept failure, and we have already given you ample time to complete your quest. The mission goes on as planned, with the change of target. You’ll just have to use your _considerable charms_ on the new king. If the rumors about him are true, I’m sure he’ll be more than receptive. And if not - “ Helblindi shrugs, “Perhaps a lifetime of servitude in Asgard will teach you some restraint.”

 

“No! No, please! Helblindi!”

 

“Best of luck, brother. Do not call me again, until you have succeeded.”

 

Loki opens his mouth to protest, but the vision is already gone.

 

Loki nearly sobs.

 

He is fucked.

 

 

***

 

_Odin leans heavily on Loki’s shoulder as Loki helps him up the stairs. He groans, visibly winded from the minimal exertion. It’s amazing, really, that the most feared, most powerful god in all the Realms has been reduced to this - and that the person he relies on most is nothing but a enslaved Jotunn runt._

 

_“One more,” Loki encourages gently. “There we are.”_

 

_At length, they manage to shuffle to their cavernous bedchamber. Loki helps Odin sit on the edge of his bed, and doesn’t miss the weary, thankful look Odin shoots him. Loki immediately crouches down to unlace Odin’s boots and is unsurprised to feel Odin’s fingers carding through his hair._

 

_“Ah, Loki,” Odin says reverently. “Poor child, I stole you from the feast too early. You should be dancing and celebrating all night. Savor your youth, before you become an old fart like me.”_

 

_“I don’t mind,” Loki says, pulling off one boot and looking up at his master through his eyelashes. “I like the quiet.”_

 

_Odin smiles sadly._

 

_“It’s Thor, isn’t it,” Odin’s face is grim, “I could see you sneaking fleeting glances at him. He can be a bit….brash, I know. I am sorry he frightened you so. He won’t trouble you again, I swear it.”_

 

_Loki shrugs. “He misses his mother. I don’t blame him for reacting the way he did.”_

 

_Odin nods at this, more solemn than ever. Loki begins to untie the second boot._

 

_“I want you to be happy,” Odin says at length. His eyebrows knot, “Are you happy here with me, Loki?”_

 

_Loki startles a bit, unprepared for that question. He schools his face, and the lie slips out as effortlessly and as convincingly as if he’d been rehearsing it for weeks._

 

_“Of course I’m happy. Are you happy?”_

 

_“Yes, child,” Odin says, but his voice cracks, broken._

 

_Loki pulls the second boot off and keeps Odin’s socked foot in his lap. He begins to rub Odin’s feet, applying pressure in just the way he knows Odin likes. It’s not the most pleasant of his duties, but it sure beats sucking cock. Odin groans appreciatively, and after a few minutes of this, Loki takes the other foot in his hands and repeats the process._

 

_Next, Loki rises to fix the Allfather’s sleep tonic, and as he stirs, he secretly infuses the liquid with a cough suppressant spell to keep Odin from hacking all night. He doesn’t want to be kept up, either._

 

_“Here,” Loki says, handing the glass of cloudy liquid to Odin. Odin takes it unquestioningly and drinks it down, utterly secure in his trust for his slave. Loki imagines how easy it would be to slip a vial of poison into the drink and escape into the night before he was discovered. That thought fills him with no pleasure, but nor would Loki hesitate if that’s what it came down to. There is no room in Loki’s cold, dark heart for sentiment._

 

_Odin sputters a bit, but the spell does the trick, and not a single cough escapes his throat._

 

_Loki changes Odin into his nightgown next, keeping his movements efficient yet gentle, and not letting his eyes linger on the haggard, withered form beneath. Odin’s skin is a battleground of scars; indexical marks of the many injuries he’d sustained during his time as a great warrior. He has an impressive looking gouge underneath his left rib - it’s said to be a dragon bite, but Loki’s never mustered the nerve to ask about it. In any case, Loki knows that Odin is uncomfortable in any state of undress, so he does not tarry, and quickly slips his nightgown over his shoulders._

 

_Odin eases himself down, tucking his legs under the bedspread._

 

_“Read to me, sweetheart?”_

 

_Loki smiles. “Of course. What would you like?”_

 

_“Oh, I don’t care,” Odin says with a sigh. “You choose tonight.”_

 

_Loki nods and pads over to the bookshelf, skimming over the leather bound tomes, although this is just for show: he knows which one he is going to pick._

 

_Loki swallows dryly, calculating whether or not tonight might be the night. He shouldn’t hold off for any longer; Laufey must be losing patience by now. But nor would it have been wise to be reckless, and push forward with this before he’d established enough trust. But tonight feels right. It could be his chance._

 

_Loki makes his selection and returns to the bed. Odin opens his arm and Loki obediently climbs in, nestling himself at Odin’s side. Having to sleep with Odin had disgusted him at first, but he’d grown to not mind it so much as the weeks and months wore on. It soon became clear that Odin either would not or could not fuck him, although Loki had certainly mentally prepared himself for that eventuality. No, Odin seems to look on Loki like a little doll: he likes to hold him, choose his clothes, give him jewels, and occasionally kiss his cheek, but not much more. Every once in awhile, he watches Loki bathe, but even then, Loki feels he’s being admired like a work of art rather than as a pleasure slave. There is no heat to Odin’s gaze, no hunger or cruelty; only a profound, unrelenting sadness that seems to permeate every aspect of his being. He’s a lonely old man. If Loki had half a heart, he might’ve felt bad for him. It’d be pathetic if it weren’t so…….sad._

 

_Odin breathes in deeply as Loki lays his head on his arm. Loki had perfumed his hair with the scent Odin liked best._

 

_“Let’s see,” Loki says, flipping through the pages. “Where were we….”_

 

_Odin rumbles contentedly next to him. Half the time, he doesn’t even seem to be listening, and is content just to let the cadence of Loki’s voice lull him to sleep. Loki needs his attention for this, though. Sometimes he gets in a mood, as old men tend to do, where he likes to yak at Loki about his adventures and conquests, reliving his youth, his one eye wistful and nostalgic. His stories have been becoming repetitive lately, like he can’t remember having told them to Loki before. Loki needs to get him talking, and if he doesn’t remember this come morning, all the better._

 

_“A brief history of Midgard,” Loki begins, keeping his voice even. Odin grunts next to him, shifting slightly, but otherwise stays silent._

 

_Loki starts to recite the tome aloud, beginning with the realm’s creation 4.54 billion years ago, through to the origin of life one billion years ago, the evolution living creatures and the development of Midgardian civilization. The book is written like an ethnographical report, detailing the different Midgardian peoples and their accomplishments; the rise and fall of their petty, short-lived empires, their inventions and ideas. Loki had already read through this book many times over while the Allfather slept, but he keeps his voice lively and interested. Loki is nothing if not an expert storyteller._

 

_Loki skips over unimportant bits, but at length, he gets part he’d been waiting for._

 

_“The invasion of Midgard,” Loki says, “By the King of the Frost Giants, Laufey of Jotunheim, was the first known direct involvement of outer beings in Midgardian affairs. In the northern region of Midgard known as Scandinavia, Jotunheim’s armies were met by a counterforce comprising of Aesir and Vanir, led by King Odin of Asgard, the Great, the Just, the One-Eyed……”_

 

_“Do you remember that?” Loki prompts._

 

_Odin makes a snoring sound, as if he’d just been jolted awake. “Hmmm?”_

 

_“Am I boring you?” Loki teases gently, putting on a mock-insulted face, just to involve Odin and maybe wake him up a bit. “With your own history, no less….”_

 

_“No, no my dear,” Odin says sleepily. He rubs his empty, scarred eye socket. “What was that?”_

 

_“I was just wondering if you remembered,” Loki says, stroking the illuminated vellum, which depicted a much younger, much stronger Allfather crushing three Jotunn under a blast of golden magic. “That battle.”_

 

_“On Midgard? Of course! It was the decisive victory in the War, when I pushed Jotunheim’s hordes back to their icy realm…..” He scratches his belly and mumbles, “....How I came to acquire the Casket of Ancient Winters…..”_

 

_A knot of adrenaline pulses in Loki’s stomach. “What was it like?”_

 

_“Ah, sweetling. I should not speak of it.”_

 

_“Why not?” Loki presses. “Because of what I am?”_

 

_“I would not want to…..upset you.”_

 

_“Come on,” Loki whines, setting aside the book. “You know I hold no allegiance to my kindred. Tell me. I want to hear about it.”_

 

_“You will think me cruel.” Odin says._

 

_Loki sits up, turning to face the king. With all the sincerity of a seasoned actor, Loki says, “In what universe could I ever find you cruel, after all you have done for me?” Loki takes Odin’s hand and brings it to his cheek, then presses a kiss to his inner palm. Sentimental garbage, but it usually does the trick._

 

_“Ah, darling boy,” Odin says, “My beautiful treasure. Perhaps some other time, for I fear I shall fall asleep before I finish the tale.”_

 

_Loki frowns inwardly. He doesn’t know when again he’ll get the chance to bring this up, and is hesitant to let go of this opportunity. One does not simply waltz into the King of Asgard’s chambers and start asking intrusive questions about the Casket of Ancient Winters, especially when one happens to be a Jotunn pleasure slave! These things must be approached delicately. And Loki’s greatest asset has always been his silver tongue._

 

_Loki lays back down, as if in obedience, but the wheels in his mind whirl almost uncontrollably._

 

_“I can’t imagine what the Nine Realms would have been like, if you hadn’t been there to stop Laufey. What kind of tyranny we’d be living under….”_

 

_Odin grunts in response._

 

_“I know nothing of my people,” Loki says thoughtfully. “I don’t remember my sire, nor my carrier. The only Jotunn I ever met were the ones who sold me into slavery, and they were not merciful to me….”_

 

_Pity: another effective tactic in Loki’s arsenal._

 

_Odin’s one eye cracks open a sliver, and he gives Loki a weak squeeze. “You are nothing like them, Loki.”_

 

_“I know, but……..I worry sometimes,” Loki goes on, “About what would happen if they ever did come to power…..if I ever fell into their hands. To be a runt in Jotunheim, they say, is to be truly cursed…..”_

 

_That much isn’t a lie, at least._

 

_“Impossible,” Odin says. “You are safe here, with me. Jotunheim is impotent, fallen into ruin since they lost the Casket….”_

 

_“And that’s the way it will stay?” He makes his voice small and childlike. “They won’t…..they won’t ever get it back?”_

 

_“Ah, do not fret, my dove,” Odin says. His eyes aren’t even open anymore. “I have secreted the Casket away to a hidden place, where it is safe, and forever out of Jotunn hands…..”_

 

_Loki’s heart thumps._

 

_“A hidden place?” he gently prods._

_“Aye,” Odin says groggily. The sleep tonic is taking hold, and soon he will be unable to resist its effects. “Far, far away from here…..”_

 

_“Where?” Loki whispers._

 

_It’s a risk, he knows, to be so forthright. But it’s a calculated one: Odin is near comatose, drugged, and vulnerable. The perfect time to strike._

 

_Loki holds his breath._

 

_Odin rumbles softly. “....Moon….of..”_

 

_This is it. This is all he needs. Just one answer and he can finally, finally go home._

 

_“Moon of what?” Loki whispers urgently. “Tell me.”_

 

_Odin makes another snore-like noise._

 

_“Tell me,” Loki repeats, almost frantically. “Tell me!”_

 

_But Loki can see it’s futile; the Allfather is lost to him, sound asleep. Loki could bash the old man’s head in out of frustration. He’d been close. He’d been so close!_

 

_Loki seethes, but forces himself to lie still at Odin’s side. His mind spins, and he doesn’t sleep._

 

_****_

 

_The Allfather rests through the night, snoring softly, and all through the next morning. Loki manages to peel himself out from underneath his arm to go to the washroom, but dutifully crawls back into bed once he’s relieved himself. Like a fucking lapdog, he has to wait for Odin to rise before he can as well._

 

_Except he doesn’t. Odin sleeps away, utterly at peace, hour after hour. Loki gives up on waiting and reads a bit, then takes a bath. He emerges some time later to find not only that Odin hadn’t yet awoken, but also that he hadn’t even moved. He’d look almost dead if it weren’t for the steady rise and fall of his chest._

 

_A knot of worry begins to form in Loki’s stomach. He crawls onto their bed and kneels next to the king’s sleeping form. “Allfather?” he hazards, laying a hand on Odin’s shoulder. The old man doesn’t rouse, so Loki tries again. He gives him a gentle shake. “It’s almost midday. It’s time to rise. Allfather?”_

 

_Nothing. Loki shakes him harder. His voice is shrill in his ears, “Master?”_

 

_Still nothing. Odin is utterly unresponsive. With horror, Loki realizes this isn’t a normal sleep……._

 

_“Wake up,” Loki pleads. He shakes the king’s shoulders violently now. “Wake up, damn you, wake up!”_

 

_As soon as Loki releases him, the king flops back down on his pillow, unconscious. It can only mean one thing -_

 

_Loki feels his throat constrict. This can’t be happening. Not now. Not when he’d been so close!_

 

_Loki sits back on his heels, swallowing down the mounting panic._

 

_He has to call Helblindi. There’s no other choice. He has to get out of here._

 

 

_****_

 

Loki watches, bleary-eyed, as Odin’s personal effects are carefully moved out of the imperial bedchamber to make room for the new inhabitant. Loki feels out of place and strangely useless. With the Allfather asleep, he hasn’t anything to do, no duties to perform - even if all he ever did was sit on Odin’s lap and repeat things into his ear when courtiers spoke too quietly for him to hear. No one seems to know what to do with him, either. He gets some wary, side-eyed glances from the servants, but is otherwise left alone. Loki doesn’t even have a place to sleep anymore: he’d slept next to Odin from almost the first night he’d arrived in Asgard. He’s not allowed there anymore. The servants set up a small mattress for him in the corner of the sitting room, and Loki spends most of the day huddled on it, willing himself not to cry.

 

Other times, Loki sits at Odin’s bedside, acting the dutiful slave, but staring at nothing. It helps to look appropriately sad and mournful. And in a way, Loki is - just not in the way the Asgardians think. Loki’s whole existence led up to that moment. He’d gone through _so much._ He’d endured untold humiliation, exhibited more restraint and patience than he thought himself capable. Years and years of planning and meticulous execution. And for what?

 

He’s stranded here. He has no friends, no allies, no protection. His own family has abandoned him.

 

Loki is proud - probably too proud for his own good - but he will, on rare occasions, admit when he’s misstepped. And yes, taunting Thor would perhaps qualify as a grievous miscalculation on Loki’s part. He’d gotten complacent with his position, even bored, and it just sort of…. _happened._ Aggravating the brutish Crown Prince gave him a smug sense of satisfaction that helped him tolerate his otherwise monotonous existence. Thor made it _so easy._ How was Loki supposed to resist?

 

Loki doesn't like not being in control of things. Even as Odin’s dancing pet he always had some handle on his own fate. He’d become skilled in whispering suggestions in Odin’s ear, and twisting his words so that the senile old man thought he came up with the ideas himself. Now, everything is so uncertain. He considers making an escape, but vetoes the idea just as quickly. He can’t teleport without having someone to open a wormhole on the other side, so going home is out of the question. He might be able to use his illusion magic to sneak out of Asgard, but even then, where would he go? He’d never be able to set foot in Jotunheim if he abandoned his post against Laufey’s direct order. He’d be disgraced. They’d call him coward, deserter. He’d be stoned.

 

There is only one thing to do: salvage his mission as best as he can, and start over with the new king. If Loki weren’t so stubborn, he’d beg Thor’s mercy, so that hopefully, after Thor’s wrath had run its course, he’d send him to live out his days a lowly servant in one of his many royal estates. Ha! The thought is so preposterous it makes Loki laugh aloud. At this point, Loki would probably have a better shot at becoming Queen of Asgard. Loki’s no fool: he knows he’s not going to be shown a shred of mercy when Thor returns, even if he begged for it. Thor is going to tear him apart.

 

But Loki is not without his defenses. He has a sly tongue, seductive eyes, crafty mind. He saw the way the Crown Prince looked at him. Loki would be stupid not to use it to his advantage. Thor is but a man, and if there is one thing Loki knows, it’s how to bring a man to heel. He can do this. He will _survive._

 

If this is going to happen, it will be on _Loki’s_ terms.

 

***

 

Loki consumes all the books Odin had in his bedchamber twice over, although he finds himself distracted and often reads over several lines without having absorbed anything. He knows Asgard has a magnificent library, one which Odin had permitted him to visit as often as he liked, but without the ageing king around, Loki worries he’ll be met with harassment and abuse if he dared to leave the apartments. Loki’s not stupid. He's heard the words that follow him around behind his back:

 

_Odin’s pet._

 

_Dancing strumpet._

 

_Whore._

 

So, Loki stays in the rooms he’d once shared with Odin and waits, speaking to no one, rendering himself as invisible as possible. He soon becomes restless, and decides to try and expel some of his nervous energy through movement. He stretches on the floor and shakes out his limbs, and yes, it does make him feel a bit better. Eventually, he works up the nerve to practice his dancing. Odin had cleared a small area in the corner of his apartments and set up a wall of mirrors for this express purpose. Dance makes Loki feel strong and agile - like a warrior of sorts, even _powerful,_ although he knows he’s a fool for finding them in any way comparable. Loki has no music so he hums an old Jotun tune in his head.

 

It’s a dance he’d learned before, long ago, but the movements come back to him as though his body were on autopilot. Front aerial, barrell turn, arabesque. He imagines himself back home, in his old dance hall, with his mirrors of ice, and his old dance master Angrboda, who’d hurl correction after correction with nary a word of praise. He remembers what it was like to see his blue self in the mirror, rather than his pale Aesir form. He’d never felt happy there, exactly; but at least he’d felt somewhat safe. Protected. Like he _belonged._

 

Loki sets up, then pushes off into a pump turn, using one leg to propel himself around and spotting his reflection in the mirror. One, two, three, four rotations. Loki’s balance is impeccable; his posture and positioning exemplary. Five, six. Loki is in his element. This is what made him Angrboda’s top student, the envy of every other dancer at his academy - seven, eight - the most beautiful, most desired runt in all of Jotunheim. Nine, ten. The only one capable for the mission that was entrusted to him -

 

A familiar blond head materializes in the mirror, and for the first time in a long time, Loki falters, stumbling out of his turn. Loki winces at a brief flash of pain, having landed on his ankle at an odd angle. He manages to keep himself from falling, at least.

 

“I did not mean to interrupt,” Thor drawls, leaning on the doorframe and taking a bite out of an apple. “You were doing so well.”

 

Loki rights himself almost immediately, and curses himself for the sudden surge of terror in his gut. He schools his features to neutrality, then gracefully slides down to the ground in a kneeling position. He didn’t even know Thor was back in Asgard! He was expecting more…..fanfare. He certainly did not think the brute would _sneak up on him._ He shouldn’t have let himself be distracted. Loki does not appreciate being caught off guard like that.

 

How long had he been standing there?

 

“My King,” Loki greets, rising back up to his feet.

 

“Not king yet,” Thor says, chewing on his apple and strolling over leisurely. “I still have to have my coronation ceremony. But the word does sound _so lovely_ coming from your lips.”

 

Thor flops down in a nearby armchair with a mighty oomph. A huge self-satisfied grin nearly cracks his face, that bastard.

 

“Well, don’t mind me,” Thor raises his eyebrows expectantly. He waves his hand, “Please, continue.”

 

Loki is still so shocked at Thor’s sudden entrance that the order doesn’t quite register at first. When it does, Loki finds himself rather at a loss; his feet turned to lead.

 

“Come on, Loki,” Thor encourages cheerfully, speaking as one would to a dog. “Come on. Twirl for me.”

 

Loki clenches his jaw. He knows Thor is just trying to get under his skin. He’s playing with him, as a cat would with a mouse before it devours it whole. And there’s nothing Loki can do about it.

 

Thor raises a finger in the air and makes a circling motion, eyes twinkling gleefully. “Twirl,” he mouths.

 

Well, fine.

 

He wants Loki to twirl? Loki’s going to fucking _twirl._

 

Steeling himself, Loki sets up, just as he was taught, then swings his leg around to propel the first rotation. One, two, three. Loki spots on Thor’s face. In his head, this makes him feel like he’s fighting back somehow, challenging Thor’s authority, _beating him_. Loki’s mental stability depends on his ability to craft little delusions like this.

 

Four, five, six. The room is a blur, and even the brief moments he fixes on Thor’s face are hazy and unclear. He knows what he looks like, however. Loki knows he’s beautiful. He knows he could fell any man he was set upon. He will bring Thor down, and he will do it _just like this._

 

Loki loses count of his spins now. He must be in the teens, and still he turns, again and again, raising on the ball of his foot each time. He attacks it as though it were a punishment, faster and faster, pouring his frustration into every swing of his leg.

 

 _Yes,_ Loki thinks, delusional. _You like that, you bastard? You like watching me twirl?_

 

Loki feels his weight bearing leg begin to shake, and he knows he won’t be able to carry on for much longer. Loki prepares himself, then flawlessly transitions into a pirouette, and does three high-speed rotations on one foot before finishing with a perfect, clean stop.

 

He blinks a few times until Thor slowly comes into focus, and when he does, Loki could almost howl with triumph. Thor’s shit-eating grin had dimmed to a look that almost resembled awe; his half-eaten apple hangs from one hand, seemingly forgotten.

 

Loki manages to suppress the urge to gloat, thankfully, but he can’t help tilting his chin up, just a tiny bit, so Thor knows Loki won’t so easily be bested.

 

“Impressive,” Thor says, his eyebrows raised. He discards his apple by tossing it over his shoulder. “Now where did you learn to do that?”

 

“It is tradition for runts to be trained as dancers. My first master thought it would be a good investment. He knew he’d make more coin - and secure me a better future.” Loki shrugs. “I enjoy it.”

 

“I see,” Thor says, considering. His eyes skim over Loki’s body, and linger over Loki’s legs and slim belly.

 

“I think I’ll have you dance at my coronation banquet.” Thor declares at length, stroking his beard. “Yes. I think that would be most suitable. It will give you an opportunity to…” Thor’s grin returns, brighter than ever, “....express your joy.”

 

“It would be an honor,” Loki grits out.

 

“Excellent!” Thor beams, clapping his hands. “It’s settled, then.”

 

He rises and stalks over to Loki. Thor’s smile melts into something darker, more _predatory,_ and Loki fights the urge to back away, his bravado draining from him as though it were water in a leaky bucket. Loki had forgotten just how fucking _imposing_ Thor is. The victory he’d claimed mere moments ago suddenly feels very far away.

 

Thor brushes a few strands of Loki’s hair back away from his face.

 

“You’re going to be my good little dancer, aren’t you?”

 

“Yes,” Loki says, because he has no choice. His heart hammers in his chest; Thor is so close, towering over him, radiating heat. 

 

Thor hums, his hand skimming over Loki’s face, until his thumb comes to rest over Loki’s bottom lip. “You’re going to _dance,_ just for me?”

 

Loki freezes, swallowing nervously, and looking anywhere but at Thor’s face. He hadn’t missed the suggestion in his tone.

 

“Yes,” Loki says, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

“Yes what?”

 

“Yes, master,” Loki says miserably.

 

Thor’s grin will probably swallow his whole face, at this rate. And Loki _hates_ him, for making him feel this way - so small and insignificant. _Weak._ Loki’s eyes burn, and he prays at the very least, he’ll be spared the indignity of Thor seeing him cry.

 

Thor toys with his lip for a moment, pressing the tip of his thumb just inside Loki’s mouth. Loki pants hotly on Thor’s fingers and waits for it to be over.

 

Thor growls low in his throat, his focus concentrated on Loki like a laser beam. For a second, Loki thinks Thor will throw him down right here on the floor and take him like an animal. Loki tenses in preparation, but instead Thor pulls back, straightening up and collecting himself.

 

Loki lets out the breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

 

“I’ll send for some musicians so you can begin rehearsing,” Thor says. His voice seems to have gotten deeper. “For my coronation, I expect _the best_.”

 

Loki nods, his voice failing him.

 

“Good,” Thor murmurs. “Good.”

 

With that, he turns on his heels, and in a whirl of red fabric, he is gone.

 

Loki sinks down to the ground, his arms wrapped protectively around himself, and wills his thumping heart down to a normal rate.

 

He is so, _so fucked._

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look, I’m making you people wait for the sex. *cackles*  
> Now I wish I wasn’t one of those authors who goes bananas over every single comment and kudos and tumblr ask. But I do. I fucking love when people are enthusiastic about my stupid fics, because I'm vain and shallow like that. yep.
> 
> And thank you thorkizilla for being so sweet and wonderful and encouraging. you're like the sunshine of the fandom.

Loki starts rehearsals for the coronation almost immediately. He’s allowed to use the palace dancers’ studio, which at least affords him more space to practice his acrobatics and tumbling.

 

Loki works on the choreography, but it comes along slowly and Loki is often frustrated. He’s a perfectionist; sections he’d been pleased with the day before suddenly seem aggravatingly subpar the morning after. Loki works and reworks his choreography until he’s so annoyed he storms off in a huff. It has to be _perfect._ It has to. If he wants to survive, he’s got to play this game.

 

His only consolation is that the music he’d chosen was approved by the planning committee; god forbid he’d have to dance to some awful Asgardian trumpet piece.There will be enough trumpets blaring that day. If there’s one thing Loki’s come to learn about Asgardians, it’s that they like their food, their drink, and their _noise._

 

He moves his mattress to the studio and winds up sleeping there too, tucked away inside a storage room that smells of dank, musty tumbling mats. Everywhere else feels too open and exposed. Without Odin, he has no protection, and there’s no telling what lecherous hands could do after a night of heavy drinking. Loki’s not so stupid as to believe that Thor would intervene and come to his rescue if he were attacked. He’d probably delight in Loki’s suffering, then cast him away for being ruined. Wouldn’t be the first time…….

 

Loki breathes deep to calm himself. He can do this. He was the star of his studio, Angrboda’s favourite. And if he could dance to that thorny old fart’s satisfaction, then he should have no trouble with these uncultured brutes.

 

Loki is in the middle of perfecting a sail turn combination when a page barges in.

 

“You are summoned,” he says simply.

 

“Now?”

 

“Yes, now.” The page waves him forward impatiently.

 

Oh, goody. Thor is looking to toy with him some more.

 

Loki quickly changes into his usual dress, smoothes out his hair, and follows the page up towards the imperial chambers: the rooms he’d once shared with the Allfather. They look different already, having been redecorated with Thor’s colors and insignia. What used to be familiar now all seems strange and foreign. Threatening.

 

He’s led into the dining room, used for when the King wishes to dine privately or with very intimate guests. Thor is there at the table, before him a veritable banquet of tantalizing and exotic dishes. Loki’s stomach rumbles at the sight. Some kindly maids had been sneaking him food, but they sometimes have nothing to spare, or simply forget to bring him anything, and Loki is much too proud to beg. He hadn’t eaten anything since the day before, and now that he’s stopped dancing, he’s got nothing to distract him from his gnawing hunger.

 

“Ah, Loki,” Thor smiles.

 

Loki approaches and kneels all the way to the ground, then back up again.

 

“Majesty.”

 

“I was wondering how my dance is coming,” Thor says idly, chewing on a drumstick. His lips and chin glisten with grease, and Loki’s tummy churns with envy. “They tell me you’re working very hard on it. You’re running my musicians ragged.”

 

“My only wish is to honour your name.”

 

It sounds so transparent even to his own ears, but Thor merely laughs.

 

“Such honeyed words! You make my sweetmeats seem like ash in comparison.”

 

Thor snaps his fingers at his empty glass, motioning for Loki to refill it. Loki does, pouring the wine until Thor indicates for him to stop. Already Loki sees he’s had a few drinks this night, and Loki raises his guard. Thor is unpredictable enough even without the benefit of alcohol.

 

“Now, this dance….I want something _big._ Something new and exciting. Something they haven’t seen before. I want to _astound_ them.”

 

“Did you have anything specific in mind, my lord?”

 

“Me? Stars, no. I leave such things to the creatively-inclined,” Thor says. “I’m more of a _warrior_ than an artist.”

 

Loki doesn’t miss the barb, intentional or not, but holds his tongue.

 

“I liked that tumbling you did, though,” Thor says thoughtfully, swiping the grease off his lips with a smooth pass of his tongue. “And that flippy jump.”

 

Thor pauses, frustrated at the lack of understanding on Loki’s face.

 

“You know. You ran and flipped sideways,” Thor makes a circle gesture with his fingers. “Legs in the air - ”

 

“Aerials, my lord?”

 

“Well I wouldn't know,” Thor snaps. “Do it. Let me see.”

 

Loki clenches his jaw, but backs up a few steps to obey. _Like a damned circus monkey._ He only needs a few paces to build momentum, launching off his back leg and flipping effortlessly in the air, then landing and turning himself upright.

 

“Yeah,” Thor says, clearing his throat slightly. “That’s it. Those. I like those.”

 

Loki nods and bows his head.

 

"So, do that, and the tumbling, and whatever else, I care not. But most of all just be beautiful. It shouldn't be hard for you." Thor says dismissively.

 

Loki is taken aback.

 

Did Thor just...... _compliment_ him?

 

“You realize, of course, what a momentous occasion this is. I’ll have the entirety of the Asgardian nobility there, as well as foreign dignitaries and sovereigns.” Thor eyes him, “I probably don’t have to remind you about the consequences should you fail. I won’t be made a fool of at my own coronation.”

 

“It will be perfect,” Loki assures him, raising his chin slightly, as if to meet Thor’s challenge with a challenge of his own.

 

“Good,” Thor murmurs. “Now then. I thought,” Thor scoops a mound of risotto into his mouth, “since my father kept you around to read to him - _as you say_ \- then perhaps I should sample your talents.” Thor motions to the side table. “Over there.”

 

Loki shuffles over to retrieve the book Thor had nodded to. He picks up the bound leather and frowns.

 

_Jotnar: The Ice-Race of Jotunheim_

 

Oh, how very amusing.

 

“Chapter eight,” Thor commands coldly, and Loki flips to the appropriate page.

 

“Chapter eight. On the…..Jotunn runt,” Loki begins shakily, suddenly nervous. He hazards a glance at Thor, who smiles at him encouragingly. Loki can already tell this book must be old, centuries even, as the term ‘runt’ is no longer held to be socially appropriate - not that that ever stopped his brethren from using the slur against him. But it doesn't matter. Loki has been called worse, and will be called worse. Such is his lot in life.

 

“Of all the creatures on Jotunheim, one of the least well known and studied is the Jotunn Runt -”

 

“Come on, speak up, put some life into it,” Thor interrupts, chewing noisily. “This is pertinent information, for you.”

 

Loki grits his teeth and starts over.

 

“Of all the creatures on Jotunheim, one of the least well known and studied is the Jotunn Runt. Recognizable by their short stature, the runt is a relatively rare genetic abnormality, occurring in only one in five thousand births. Fewer still survive into adulthood, being especially vulnerable to cold temperatures, disease and malnutrition…”

 

Loki pauses, looking up. Thor is staring back at him expectantly. “Continue.”

 

Loki does, rattling through old, mostly outdated information about his kind, about the probable causes for the syndrome, its various manifestations and subtypes, the outcomes. It all feels very surreal, to be reading aloud about himself in this very detached, scientific way, and to the soon-to-be King of Asgard no less. Loki could almost laugh at the absurd direction his life has taken. That he even got himself involved in this mess at all…….

 

His mind wanders as he reads, as it is wont. After having spent so many hours reading aloud to Odin, Loki can do it almost automatically, without necessarily having to think about what he’s saying.

 

A diagram on the opposite side of the page catches the corner of his eye. It depicts the average size difference between runts and normal Jotnar, showing the two side by side. The runt in the illustration reaches to the navel of its compatriot, which is more or less how tall Loki is compared to Helblindi, although some Frost Giants grow much taller, and some runts are much shorter. Loki remembers what it was like to realize that his growth spurt wasn’t coming, that he was a runt, that he would be frozen in this body forever. He remembers his dreams of being a fierce warrior fading before his eyes. Then came the….incident. Helblindi packed him off to Angrboda shortly thereafter, and, well, there isn’t much point in crying about it now.

 

Thor _must_ be aware of Loki’s intersexuality, Loki suddenly thinks. How could one be a King of Asgard and _not_ know that? He must have noticed The Jotnar are all of one gender! It says so right here in this book. Although Helblindi had hexed Loki with a blanching spell to make his coloring more appealing to the Aesir, he’d decided to leave that part of him unchanged.

 

 _“Men will like it,”_ His brother had reassured him. _“Men like anything with a warm, wet hole….”_

 

Some reassurance.

 

Funny to think he hadn’t even had to bed Odin. Loki even tried to make it happen once or twice, when he first entered the Allfather’s possession, but Odin always gently turned him down. At first, Loki assumed this was because the Allfather couldn’t work up an erection with which to fuck him - a common problem among men of advanced age. But then, as time went on, he began to think the barrier was psychological, rather than physiological. For if Odin couldn’t fuck Loki himself, he could have easily ordered him to use a dildo, or he could have penetrated him digitally, or even could have had Loki fucked by a third party. Odin never forced such indignities upon him; all he wanted was a kind ear and a shoulder to lean on. He was a man still deep in mourning.

 

He was Loki’s whole world.

 

“Well, do you?”

 

Thor’s sharp voice cuts through his inner monologue. Loki startles out of his reverie and looks up, lost.

 

“Aren’t you paying attention? And here I brought this book for your benefit!” Thor smirks, clearly amused. “Have body hair.”

 

 _“Excuse me?”_ Loki says before he can catch himself. He feels a hot flush creep up the back of his neck. Thor just laughs.

 

Loki glances down and skims the paragraph he’d just read aloud, frowning at the subject matter. He really ought to have focused a bit more.

 

There’s no point in lying; Thor could just strip him bare and find out for himself.

 

“No. I don’t.”

 

“None at all?” Thor’s eyes flick briefly down Loki’s body, to his crotch, then back up again.

 

“No.” Loki says, jaw clenching. As an afterthought he adds, “Highness.”

 

“Huh.” Thor says. He runs his tongue over his teeth, then turns back to his food. “So you’re like a permanently prepubescent Frost Giant.”

 

“I suppose you could put it like that.”

 

There must have been a harsh, bitter edge to his tone, because Thor’s grin only widens.

 

“Well, all Jotunns go bald at puberty, don’t they?” Thor takes another bite of his drumstick. “Shed the hair on their heads, sprout horns, and grow an extra five feet…..? The only ones I’ve ever seen with hair like yours were younglings.”

 

“I don’t know,” Loki says.

 

“You don’t know?”

 

“I have been separated from my kind for almost as long as I can remember.”

 

“Huh,” Thor says again, clearly unsympathetic. He takes a large gulp of wine. “Well, it’s a good thing I found that book for you, then, isn’t it.”

 

“Yes, my lord.” Loki says flatly. “Thank you.”

 

“Although, to be honest, I’m not sure why my father had you read to him,” Thor drawls. “It was a bit….dry for my taste. But I’m sure you have _other_ skills to make you worth your keep. Don’t you, Loki.”

 

Thor sets his cutlery down over his cleared plate and grunts in satisfaction. He reclines, scratching his bulging stomach, and fixes his stormy eyes on Loki, suddenly very intent.

 

“What _did_ you do, to make him love you so?”

 

Loki’s eyes flick up for a moment, then back down again. He shifts under Thor’s gaze, unsure if the question is rhetorical or if Thor is actually expecting an answer.

 

“I…..cared for him,” Loki says at length.

 

Thor scoffs.

 

“You sat with him,” he begins slowly, “Whispered in his ear, leaned into his touch. You were his crutch and his confidante. You accepted his gifts and the privileges he conferred upon you. You went to bed with him every single night. And I ask you, Loki,” Thor pauses, seemingly for effect, “Do you think I am a fool?”

There is no way to convince Thor of the truth of his and Odin’s relationship. Loki’s not even sure if it’d be in his best interest to do so. If he said he had slept with the Allfather, Thor might very well dispose of him like a half-chewed piece of candy. And if he denied it, well. That probably wouldn’t bode well for him either.

 

“Believe what you want,” Loki says softly. “He was a lonely old man.”

 

Thor sits back, contemplative, and it occurs to Loki that this might not have been something he'd considered before.

 

“He never stopped loving your mother,” Loki ventures.

 

Thor’s eyes instantly darken. “Don’t you _dare_ speak about my mother,” he snarls. “You don’t know _anything_ about her.”

 

Loki mumbles an apology, and looks away. Mental note: Thor is touchy about his mother.

 

“You are nothing but a replaceable whore,” Thor goes on bitingly, sharpening his words to inflict maximum damage. “There are a thousand more just like you waiting to take your place. There was only _one_ Queen of Asgard.”

 

Loki ducks his head so Thor won’t see him flinch. Because it _is_ true. It’s always been true. There is no one in all the Realms who would miss him if he were gone. Whatever affection the Allfather had for him may have been built on a lie, but at least he might’ve cared if Loki were thrown off the Bifrost and into oblivion.

 

They fall into silence for a long while, Thor’s temper still inflamed, stifling, hanging over Loki’s head like a dark cloud. Loki stands there awkwardly, curled in on himself and wanting nothing more than to disappear forever. He seethes inwardly and curses that Thor can so easily make him feel utterly powerless.

 

Thor looks over at him.

 

“C’mere,” He grunts, waving his hand in a lazy come-hither motion, his eyes half-lidded with drink.

 

Loki’s not sure if Thor intends to snap at him some more or perhaps give him a solid thwack, but nonetheless, he complies, setting the book aside and approaching his master. Thor pats his thigh once and Loki obediently, unthinkingly, climbs in his lap, and is instantly struck by just how _different_ Thor feels. Thor is firmer, more muscular, thrumming with youth and vigor, whereas Odin was soft and mellow with age. Loki sits stiffly and awkwardly, unable to relax after just being yelled at. Thor is an unknown quantity, unpredictable, and Loki does not yet know how to navigate his mercurial moods. Odin had been familiar. Safe. He’d never once laid a hand on Loki in anger, never even raised his voice. Odin had shown more kindness to Loki than any other person, Aesir or Jotunn, and for a brief, stupid moment, Loki…... _misses_ him.

 

“Well? Go on. Take what you like,” Thor says behind him. If Loki were younger and more naive, he’d swear it was an apology of sorts. But he’s not, and he knows Thor is incapable of remorse.

 

Loki remembers a time when he would have been insulted to be offered leftovers, as though he were a dog at its masters table, but Loki knows he’s now dependant on Thor’s charity. His stomach rumbles almost painfully, and he’s reminded of just how long it’s been since he had a satisfying meal.

 

Loki rips a chunk of meat off Thor’s mostly-eaten roast goose and stuffs it in his mouth, chewing greedily and swallowing it half whole. He samples the lemon-salmon next, and the buttered garlic bread. It’s soft and chewy and _delicious._ Of course it is - nothing but the best for a king’s table.

 

“You were hungry,” Thor remarks, and points to a platter to Loki’s right. “Try these.”

 

Loki does, popping a bite-sized sausage roll in his mouth and nearly groaning at the sharp bite of spice enveloped in a flaky crust. The potato wedges and stewed lamb are just as marvellous. Loki tries everything within reach, until his stomach is nearly full and sated. He’s so relieved to be finally getting real food that he doesn’t even register Thor’s hand hot on his thigh, at first resting, then stroking.

 

Loki freezes, his heart thumping in his chest, then immediately chides himself for it. He knew this would happen. Thor could order him on all fours, on his knees, on his back, at anytime; Loki is in no position to refuse. The matter is totally out of his hands. So why get worked up about it now?

 

Thor doesn’t do anything more while Loki finishes and their dinner is cleared. The servants don’t spare them a second glance, not that it would matter if they did. Loki is used to being pawed at in public. Everyone already believes him to be a whore; it’s not like he can sink any lower.

 

Thor is quiet at his back, occasionally shifting or making soft rumbling noises. His fingers trail up over the skin of Loki’s nape and sweep Loki’s hair away and over his shoulder, trailing goosebumps in their wake, surprisingly gentle. His face is right there - _right there -_ and Loki can feel his breath hot on his skin, the prickle of his beard. Loki shivers, but otherwise sits still and acquiescent.

 

“Here,” Thor says lowly. He reaches past Loki to the bowl of strawberries the servants had just brought out. He takes one and dips it in a bowl of warm, molten chocolate, then brings it up to Loki’s lips. Although he’s already quite full, Loki knows better than to refuse.

 

Loki takes the strawberry in his mouth, careful not to nip Thor’s fingers. The berry is small and succulent, and exquisitely paired with the dark chocolate. He hums appreciatively and chews, hazarding a glance at Thor, who looks back at him with rapidly darkening eyes.

 

Intrigued, Thor feeds him another. Loki makes more of a show of it now, licking his lips when a small dollop of chocolate drips down his bottom lip. Thor’s eyes dart down. Loki is probably mad, but he feels strangely…... _powerful_ like this. Thor’s attention is exhilarating in a way Loki simply wasn’t anticipating. This is the _King of Asgard,_ God of Thunder - the most powerful man in all the Realms. He could have anyone, as he so _gallantly_ pointed out, any buxom high-born lady or limber boy, and yet here he is, with a Jotunn runt in his lap, utterly transfixed.

 

And maybe Loki has always thrilled in danger and the unknown, because for the first time since Odin fell into sleep, Loki thinks he could do this. If he played his cards right, he could have Thor by the base of his cock. He could earn Thor’s trust and complete the task that was set before him. He could go home, his debt repaid, and live out the rest of his days in peace.

 

Of course, seducing Thor would present a considerably different set of challenges than Loki’s previous target. Loki’s fairly certain that he wouldn’t be able to get away with not fucking him. But then, it’s not like he went into this mission thinking he’d keep what’s left of his sullied honor intact anyway.

 

Loki’s got nothing left to lose.

 

When next Thor brings a strawberry up to Loki’s lips, Loki purposefully drags his tongue over the tips of Thor’s fingers, lapping away the excess chocolate there. Thor growls deep in his throat. He must know Loki did it intentionally, because when next he reaches to the table, he bypasses the fruit altogether and dips his two fingers in the chocolate instead.

 

Call it Loki’s inner showman instinct, but as soon as Thor brings his fingers to Loki’s lips, Loki sucks them into his mouth with delighted hum, swirling his tongue around them wetly, bobbing his head, taking them to the knuckle. He continues sucking long after the chocolate’s gone, and even dares to glance up at Thor through his eyelashes. He doesn’t miss Thor’s sharp intake of breath at the flash of Loki’s green eyes.

 

At length, Thor pulls his fingers out of Loki’s mouth with a wet pop, then adjusts them so they’re pressed chest to back, with Thor’s breath hot on Loki’s shoulder. His arms envelop Loki’s torso in a semblance of an embrace. He slides his hands up over Loki’s taut belly, smoothing over the silk of Loki’s shift. The material is soft against Loki’s skin and he unconsciously leans into the heat of Thor’s touch, a breathy sigh escaping his lips. Loki isn’t even sure if this is still a part of his act.

 

Thor’s touches grow bolder, cupping Loki’s chest and thumbing over his nipples until they begin to pebble. Before he knows it, Loki’s own slim hands are covering Thor’s, guiding his movements and keeping him where he likes it best. Thor is panting on the junction of his neck. Everything feels so hot, so feverish and hazy. Loki almost forgets what he’s doing - _who he’s with._

 

Thor bucks, jostling Loki on his lap, so that Loki is brushed against Thor’s erection, the bulge unmistakable even under all of the heavy layers of Thor’s robes. His hands travel lower, and lower, until he’s rubbing at the place between Loki’s legs -

 

“Ah,” Loki gasps, for he truly wasn’t expecting the surge of heat up his spine. He hadn’t been touched in….ages. Too long…….

 

But he can’t just give it away like any red light prostitute! Loki has to show he’s different. If he’s going to have to lay with this brute, it certainly won’t be while he’s bent over a table like a tavern whore. Loki will be taken in the imperial bedchamber, on sheets of the finest silk, on brocade and mahogany and enamel and gold. The thought fills him with a deluded satisfaction. Yes, Loki will allow Thor to fuck him, in whatever manner he pleases, however rough and dirty…...

 

…….But he’ll have to do it with Loki lying in the place of a Queen.

 

Thor moves to reach up under Loki’s shift and Loki jolts into action.

 

“Stop,” Loki whispers, wriggling and tugging the hem back down. “Stop, stop.”

 

Thor pulls back, blinking and dazed.

 

“What?”

 

Thor is apparently not accustomed to being refused, because he merely growls and resumes his ministrations, more forcefully than before.

 

“No!” Loki squirms. “No, stop. Please.”

 

At this, Thor does stop, his face twisting into a terrifying snarl.

 

“You _dare,”_ Thor hisses. He takes a fistful of Loki’s hair and yanks his head backward. Loki lets out a pained yelp, and for a moment, considers revising his plan. “You little tease, you fucking little tease, you’ve no right to refuse me! I should have you whipped!”

 

“I am not refusing you, my lord; I am only asking you to wait.”

 

“Wait,” Thor repeats, as if the idea were so preposterous it bordered on the inconceivable.

 

“Yes,” Loki says, swallowing his nerve. “Until the night of your coronation.”

 

Thor laughs ominously, darkly amused by the audacity of his little slave.

 

“And why should I?” Thor growls. He jerks Loki’s head, but this time, Loki manages to swallow down the whimper. “When you sit in my lap, and  _provoke_ me like you do? What do I care, whether or not you’re willing?”

“Because,” Loki says. “You’ll _like_ me when I’m willing.”

 

Thor seems to pause at this, but he doesn’t release his iron grip on Loki’s hair.

 

“I think I’d like you just as well when your pretty face is stained with tears.”

 

“Then consider this,” Loki counters, “That on the night of your greatest triumph, after all of Asgard hails the coming of your golden reign, drinks to your health and prosperity, celebrates and feasts till dawn, you will go to your bed, as _the one true King of Asgard_ , and take me as I know you’ve always wanted.”

 

Loki grinds his hips in small circles against Thor’s cock, making Thor groan.

 

“Would that not be most satisfying, my lord?”

 

“You haughty creature,” he growls, tightening his grip on Loki’s hip, “You won’t spread your legs for anyone but a king, is that it?”

 

Loki grins. “I am no ordinary pleasure slave.”

 

“Clearly not.” Thor says, but Loki can tell he’s seriously considering Loki’s proposal. The hint of hesitation strengthens Loki’s resolve.

 

“I want you,” Loki goes on sinfully, gaining confidence,“to watch me dance to your glory. I want you to put me on display, in silk and gold, so that every single man there would slit his mother’s throat for the chance to touch me. I want to make them envy you, because they’ll know that I belong to you, only to you, and that it’ll be _your_ bed I’ll warm at night’s end. And then I want you to lay me down, on your first night in the Imperial bedchamber, and fuck me as you so please, until I cry and beg you to stop.”

 

“Loki…” Thor groans in warning.

 

“I want to be your most precious jewel,” Loki moans breathily, “and I want to be your filthy slut.”

 

Thor smirks, but underneath the lofty countenance Loki can see that he’s _wrecked,_ painfully aroused, thunderous and tense, and quite possibly rendered speechless. His nostrils flare, and his jaw clenches, but from the look in his eyes, Loki can tell he’s won.

 

“Where did you come from,” Thor murmurs. “You little demon.”

 

Loki grins crazily, but his smile fades when Thor gives his hair one more vicious tug, then unceremoniously throws him to the ground.

 

Thor sits back in his armchair and falls silent. Not knowing what else to do, Loki kneels on the floor at Thor’s feet and waits. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Thor’s fingers strum restlessly against the armrest. His booted foot taps on the floor.

 

“Fetch me a brandy.”

 

Shakily, Loki picks himself off the floor and does as he is bid. He feels Thor’s eyes on the back of his neck as he goes, searing his skin like a brand. As soon as he’s out of the room, Loki lets out the largest exhale of his life.

 

“Fuck,” he whispers to himself, shaken yet also oddly _exhilarated._ “Fuck, fuck.”

 

He heads to Odin’s liquor cabinet and fixes Thor’s drink, his hands trembling as he pours, grinning maniacally all the while.

 

Thor had _listened._

 

Loki had brought him to the brink of losing control and got him to _stop._

 

Crown Prince Thor, who is used to getting everything he ever wanted. He’s not impervious to Loki’s charms. He’s just like any other man. He can be _tamed._

 

Loki takes a few moments to compose himself, suppressing the ridiculous grin that threatens to overwhelm his face, then returns to the dining room with a silver serving tray and Thor’s brandy. Thor is staring at the fire, tense as a bowstring. He barely acknowledges Loki as he takes the glass from the tray, and does not offer a single word. He’s probably still horribly, painfully aroused, and it’s _Loki_ that did it to him.

 

“I’ll not be gentle with you,” Thor warns matter-of-factly.

 

Loki nods. He knows. There’s no way one _could_ bed the God of Thunder and escape unscathed.

 

Thor sips his brandy.

 

“You better be worth it.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> thor gets his revenge in the best way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thor is such an asshole but….he’s also kind of delightful???? i am having waaaay too much fun with this, someone take away my microsoft word.
> 
> Thank you for everyone who kudos'ed and commented! YOUR ENCOURAGEME NT IS EVERYTHING TO MEEEEEEE
> 
> Extra special love for forkinthebutt for the [awesome fanart!](http://teresa-dances-in-sequins.tumblr.com/post/92850103697/forkinthebutt-i-drew-some-fan-art-for) YOU MADE ME SQUEE ALOUD OMG

Thor is a dark thundercloud when he’s displeased. Loki means that half-literally, because it’s raining in Asgard all week. Thor’s pissy moods are practically palpable, tainting the air with an electric tension that would make hairs on even the most battle-hardened warrior’s neck stand on end. Loki’s not the only one who can sense it, either. Courtiers and senior council members know to tread lightly, for as much as Thor is a great king - decisive, cunning, and capable - he can also be mercurial and vengeful, quick to anger and even quicker to wrath. He is not a man to be trifled with.   

 

Still, Loki decides (emphatically and repeatedly) that he is going about this exactly the right way. He can’t simply spread his legs whenever Thor snaps his fingers! If he gave in prematurely, then he’d only reward Thor’s bratty sulking. It’s just like when Loki had trained that ice pup as a youngling. You can’t just give the pup a piece of seal meat every time it whines and begs! By yielding, you’d only train it to whine and beg even more in the future.

 

Ice pup or King of Asgard, it’s all the same, really. It’s about _consistency_ \- setting boundaries and sticking to them.

 

Loki repeats this to himself like a mantra whenever Thor calls on him.

 

It’s always in the evenings, after Loki had spent the whole day in rehearsals. By then, he’s usually bone-tired and ravenous, but Thor always makes Loki wait until he’s done eating before he allows him to pick through his leftovers. It’s just one more indignity thrust upon him. Loki’s only consolation is that since that first time, Thor has not moved to touch him. But that in and of itself is little solace. Just because Thor had given him his word that he’d wait, doesn’t mean he’d make good on it. A promise to a slave counts for nothing.

 

For the most part, Thor is civil enough, ordering Loki around to fetch him this or that, refill his glass, stoke the fire, light his pipe. On evenings like this, Odin would usually give Loki mending to do, or let him read, or leave him to do his stretches by the mirror. Thor grants no such liberties, so Loki spends most of his time kneeling on the ground by Thor’s feet, staring blankly at the fire and waiting on baited breath to cater to Thor’s passing whims.

 

“Where are you sleeping?” Thor asks out of nowhere, looking down at Loki over the cover of his book.

 

Loki shifts, wanting to lie but knowing it’d not be in his best interest to do so.

 

“The dance studio,” he says. “In a….storage room.”

 

Thor smirks, but he seems to be masking a displeased frown.

 

“Quite the downgrade from the imperial bedchamber.”

 

Loki looks away with a shrug. “It’s quiet and….private. I’m not bothered at night.”

 

That, and he has nowhere else to go.

 

“I see,” Thor says, clicking his tongue. He diverts his attention back to his book, and the conversation is over.

 

***

 

 

The next day, Loki’s informed by Thor’s head steward that he’s to be moved to a room in the old harem quarters, which had been in disuse since Odin’s marriage to Queen Frigga several millennia ago. Odin loved her so much he chose to remain faithful to her. Loki would not have believed this if he hadn’t spent so much time alone with Odin. The Allfather spoke so reverently of her that Loki found himself rather jealous that such a love could be shared between two people. From what Loki’s heard, Odin used to be rather like Thor when he was young - brash and arrogant, eager for war and glory - until Frigga softened him in the ways of kingship. It’s greatly thanks to her calming influence that Odin became so widely adored and respected by the peoples of the Realms.

 

This gives Loki hope for Thor.

 

The old harem quarters are nice enough, Loki grants, with individual cells surrounding a large open common chamber, bathhouse and private garden. There is room to house about twelve concubines, perhaps more if they doubled up the bedrooms. Every entranceway is gated with golden lattice grills intended to keep intruders out at night - and harem inmates in. Although they are not locked, Loki can’t help but feel penned, like an exotic bird in a menagerie.

 

Loki supposes his placement here makes the most sense. He’s more intimate with Thor than an ordinary slave, but not so close that he could claim a chamber in the Imperial apartments as an official consort would. Loki wonders whether Thor intends to fill the rest of these rooms when he becomes King. Although Thor has kept favourites in the past, his passion tends to be both intense and short-lived. The fact that Loki’s managed to keep Thor’s attention for so long is rather unprecedented.

 

Well. Loki is no ordinary pleasure slave, and so he views his harem cell as only temporary accommodation. After Thor’s coronation, Loki will sleep at Thor’s side, as would a queen, for it is on royal pillows that all the best secrets are told. Loki will not let himself be sent away after Thor is finished with him. No. Loki is not _disposable.`_ For Loki to succeed, he cannot let Thor come to see him as merely another hole to fuck.

 

Loki takes comfort, ironically enough, is in the humiliating treatment Thor inflicts upon him. Thor must find him intriguing, at the very least, else he would not bother tormenting him at all. Loki even thinks he can detect a sliver of affection in Thor’s mockery.

 

That, or else Loki's simply exhausted and delusional and his imagination is playing tricks on him.

 

(Loki leans towards the latter.)

 

One evening, Thor calls on Loki to serve him and his four closest friends - the fat one, the lady one, the pretty one and the short one - in his private dining room. Loki goes in with his guard uncharacteristically lowered, safe in the knowledge that he’ll not be assaulted while Thor’s friends are present. Distracted by their company, Thor won’t have to resort to toying with Loki for amusement. A small mercy, perhaps. Loki just has to hold him off until the coronation…...

 

As far as Loki’s duties go, it’s dull work, but not unpleasant. Loki fills drinks, serves platters, fetches this or that. Loki manages to tune out their inane conversation, and for the most part, he is ignored, although he can often feel Thor’s eyes on him, lingering on his bare arms, his thighs, his ass. Loki hazards a glance up at the soon-to-be king, and as soon as their eyes meet, Thor’s face melts into a warm, almost earnest smile. It would be sweet if it weren’t….disconcerting. Loki turns away, his cheeks hot.

 

Damn him.

 

Loki soon excuses himself to go fetch another pitcher of ice water. The conversation at his master’s table goes on uninterrupted; his absence is hardly noticed.

 

As soon as he is out of eyesight, Loki’s neutral, servile expression degenerates into a hearty scowl.

 

Insufferable, spoiled aristocrats, the lot of them! Filling their days with leisure and sport and banquets. They know nothing of suffering, of sacrifice, of what it means to be a part of something bigger than oneself. Where Loki is from, honor is earned rather than granted, and very easily lost. The Jotunn race are as cold and heartless as the ice-fields of Jotunheim itself. It is nothing to cast a family member out for even a small misstep. Family honor must be preserved above all other things; if one hapless member has the misfortune of falling into disrepute…..like a blight, he must be rooted out. This is the way of the Frost Giants. Loki knows it all too well.

 

Loki glowers as he refills the silver pitcher and even imagines spitting in it out of spite. He refrains, but the thought alone makes his lips curl into a demonic smile. He could make such mischief if he dared to use his magic! He would never - it would be too great a risk for no worthwhile gains - but even so, Loki would go mad if he couldn't at least _imagine._ If the Asgardians knew he was a Jotunn witch, he’d be bound, his power taken from him until Thor decides when and where to make use of him. Loki needs to be able to call on his magic if he were truly in desperate straits. It’s the last lifeline he has left.

 

Loki is making his way back to the dining hall, pitcher in hand, when out of nowhere, he is grabbed from behind.

 

His first impulse is to struggle. He’d scream, too, if there wasn’t a hand pressed over his mouth. His silver pitched clatters to the ground, spilling ice water all over the marble floor.There isn’t much time to react before he’s half-dragged, half-carried into a small side room, used to store extra tables and chairs. Loki thrashes all the way, fearing that some guard had finally lost his inhibition. Whoever it is, he’s much stronger than Loki, and that alone is cause for fear.

 

“What are you doing?!!” Loki cries, irate, once he sees who it is. The brute almost given him a heart attack!

 

“Shhhh, Shut up, Loki. Shut up. I’m not going to fuck you, stupid,” Thor says, herding Loki up against the wall. His lips purse slightly in amusement. “Not yet, anyway.”

 

Loki makes himself flat, and doesn’t for a second believe him. Fuck. His heart won’t stop racing.

 

It must show on his face, because then Thor says, “So suspicious!” He boops Loki’s nose with the tip of his finger, then laughs at Loki’s bewilderment. “It’s almost as if you don’t _trust_ me.”

 

Thor grins, and Loki can already tell he’s playing some kind of game with him, a game Loki doesn’t yet know the rules to. Loki is trapped, and has no choice but to suffer through it and hope for the best.

 

“I only wanted to speak to you in private.”

 

“......Alright.” Loki eyes him cautiously. “And for this you had to grab me from behind?”

 

Thor’s impish smile only deepens. “I was wondering if you were as ferocious as you looked! I was not disappointed.”

 

Loki makes a half-hearted, breathy laugh.

 

“Not ferocious enough, it seems.”

 

Thor laughs again, easily, and it makes Loki’s stomach churn. Then Thor’s face turns solemn.

 

“I know how hard you’ve been working on my coronation dance. I hear from the maestro that you’ve been getting along well with the musicians and other dancers, and collaborating with them on the entirety of the performance. In fact, he said he was very impressed with your comportment. This pleases me,” Thor declares.

 

Loki shifts. “My only wish is to serve you, my lord,” he mumbles.

 

Thor chuckles. “Oh, Loki. Flattery will get you everywhere. But I must be serious. I was thinking, your efforts deserve to be rewarded.” He reaches under his cloak. “So I got you a little present.”

 

Loki’s brows knot in confusion. Thor had been sulking at him all week! And now the sudden change of heart? Loki doesn’t like it. He must be up to something, surely.

 

Thor pulls a small velvet drawstring bag out of a secret pocket and hands it to Loki.

 

“Open it.”

 

Loki frowns and undoes the drawstring. Out roll two walnut-sized golden beads, connected to each other with a string. They are rather heavy, but not overly so, and as Loki rolls them in his hand, he can feel them rattle. They’re hollow on the inside, Loki deduces, containing a smaller loose bead inside. Loki has absolutely no idea what they are or what they’re for.

 

He looks up. Thor is still grinning down at him, evidently pleased with himself.

 

“Um, thank you.” Loki says, mystified. “They’re….beautiful.”

 

“Yeah. Now put them up your cunt.”

 

Loki blinks, the words not registering at first.

 

“ _What??”_

 

“Put them,” Thor enunciates slowly, “Up your cunt.”

 

Loki makes a strange coughing noise. “I - um -

 

“It’s what they’re for. Pleasure beads. You’ll like it.” Thor waves his hand expectantly. “Go on, then.”

 

Loki should have known something was up. It never bodes well for him when Thor smiles at him like that.

 

Weakly, he says, “Now?”

 

“No, at Ragnarok.” Thor rolls his eyes. “Yes, now. Quickly. I want to get back to my supper.”

 

“My lord, I don’t think -”

 

“Either you do it, or I will do it for you,” Thor threatens, and Loki’s got no doubt he would, but still he hesitates. Thor’s wolfish grin returns tenfold. “Or have you suddenly gone shy? Loki, my sweet, you are blushing…..”

 

“No, I can do it,” Loki mumbles, resigned.

 

Shakily, he reaches up underneath his shift to shimmy out of his underthings, very mindful of Thor’s gaze on him. His cheeks burn. This wasn’t supposed to happen! He was supposed to have Thor off-balance, not the other way around!

 

Reaching underneath the hem of his shift, Loki brings the first ball up to his vaginal entrance. His hands are trembling so hard he thinks he’ll drop them. He presses the first ball inwards, but his hole refuses to give - Loki’s either not slick enough or too tight, or perhaps both. His skin snags, and Loki winces in discomfort.

 

“I, uh,” he says sheepishly, his mouth dry, “I don’t think I can -”

 

Thor’s eyebrows raise at this.

 

“What, is your little cunny not wet enough?” Thor smirks. He suddenly presses Loki up against the wall, pinning him under his considerable bulk. “Let me help you, pet.”

 

“No,” Loki pleads, helplessly trying to push Thor back and failing miserably. “No, I can -”

 

“Easy, kitten,” Thor says. He brings his hand to his mouth and spits on his fingers. “Calm down. I’m just going to ease the way a bit.”

 

He slips his wet fingers up underneath Loki’s shift and immediately hits his mark.

 

Loki makes an undignified squeak the feel of Thor’s blunt fingers rubbing on his clit. He scrambles at Thor’s arms, trying to push him off.

 

“I told you - ah! I told you no!” Loki hisses, trying at once to pull away from, and towards, the pressure that’s sending bolts of electricity up his spine. “Not until -”

 

“I said I’m not going to fuck you!” Thor exclaims, losing patience. “This is just for you, Loki. Be still! You will like this.”

 

Thor’s fingers quest lower, stroking Loki’s lips and around his vaginal opening.

 

“Ah!” Loki squeezes his eyes closed as Thor’s fingers sink inside him.  

 

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Thor growls, thrusting his fingers in and out. “Like a little virgin. I’m beginning to think you were telling the truth about you and my father.”

 

Thor leans in close to Loki’s ear, his breath hot and his voice filled with dark promise.

 

“I am going to fuck you open, kitten. I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll feel me up your throat. I’m going to to carve out a place for myself inside you.” he punctuates his words with sharp, merciless jabs of his fingers, “and I will wring climax after climax from your weary little body, until you scream yourself mute, and all of Asgard will hear you and know the truth of what you are. _”_

 

Loki sobs helplessly as Thor’s fingers rub at him, inside and out, his clothes bunched up around him. Thor is everywhere. He’s all Loki can see and feel and smell. He’s searing and electric and dangerous; his words terrify but also heighten the horrible pleasure coursing in his blood.

 

At length, Thor pulls away, and Loki could almost cry about that, too.

 

Thor brings his fingers up in front of Loki’s face and rubs his thumb and forefinger together, slippery with Loki’s juices.

 

“That’s more like it,” he oozes, and steps back coolly. “Try now.”

 

Loki nearly collapses, his knees buckling precariously as soon as Thor’s not there to support them anymore. He’d been clutching the beads so hard his knuckles turned white; he’d all but forgotten about them. His clit throbs between his legs but he dares not touch it.

 

Trembling, Loki obeys, once again bringing the beads down under the hem of his shift to his cunt and pressing the first against the opening. Indeed, he’s much, much slicker this time, and is face burns because of it. Applying a little force, Loki manages to slide the first in easy enough, and the second one too. His cunt clamps down on the foreign objects, holding them in, and Loki emits a pathetic choked out whimper.

 

“There now. How does it feel?”

 

“Uhh,” Loki gurgles, “Like…..pressure.”

 

Thor grins broadly and gives Loki’s ass a solid thwack. “My my. Not so silver-tongued now, are you?”

 

And that’s when Loki realizes why the beads are hollow like that: when Loki moves, _they vibrate._

 

“Hnng,” Loki gasps at the sensation. Thor laughs.

 

“As I said, you’ll _like_ them _,”_ he says, waggling his eyebrows. “Now come on, pull your panties up. My dinner is getting cold.”

 

Loki bends down to obey, mentally cursing the wretched day he was ever conceived.

 

“Our little secret.” Thor says, winking. As they step out into the brighter hallway, Loki observes that Thor is not as unaffected as he’d like to appear - some comfort, at least. Loki’s not the only one wrecked around here.

 

Thor grabs Loki’s wrist and tugs him along; Loki can only trot helplessly behind him, the inner beads thrumming with his every step. They provide constant stimulation but it’s not enough to grant him release; only enough to exacerbate Loki’s arousal, make him writhe and and flush and ache to be touched. It’s wonderful and torturous at the same time. Humiliating, too, for Thor will surely be watching him closely now, delighting in Loki’s discomfort as he orders him around.

 

.Loki does not see the rest of the evening playing out well.

 

Loki is having the worst time.

 

 

***

 

Thor is having _the best time._

 

This is, by far, the greatest idea he’s ever had.

 

So that little runtling thought he could best the mighty King of Asgard? Leave him hanging and unsatisfied?

 

Ha!

 

Loki is clever, Thor grants. Far too clever for his own good. Behind those green eyes lurks a potent, sharp intelligence that is better suited to a politician than to some smooth, long-legged pleasure slave. Thor is a shrewd man, and he does not like being toyed with. He will show the brat who the master is around here.

 

Thor takes his seat at the head of his table and tries to act normally. His friends do not rise to greet him when he returns; they are the only ones who are afforded this exemption, and only ever when Thor dines in private. Thor is something of a stickler for protocol. Courtly decorum is not mere ceremony; it is an outwards demonstration of the social stratum to which one belongs. Allowing just a single breach of etiquette can be construed as an attack upon the entire system. While Odin was king, Thor had always made sure to show him due respect. Now it is _his_ turn at the top, and Thor will not stand for any slights against his person. Order must be maintained. To each his or her proper place.

 

Loki’s proper place, as it happens, is at Thor’s side, squirming with arousal. Just looking at him makes Thor want to laugh aloud. It’s clearly a struggle for him to act normally while his pussy is being ruthlessly pleasured. Loki’s fingers clench and unclench, his jaw tightens subtly, and his cheeks flush the loveliest shade of pink. He clearly wants to take the beads out - or at least touch himself to relieve the tortuous arousal. Thor will let him do neither. Not yet, at least.

 

Thor delights in ordering Loki to fill his cup or grind pepper on his meat, because every time Loki is forced to walk, his hips roll in a strange, stiff way, as if he’s trying to mitigate the sensation of the rattling beads. He’s not happy, that much is certain; why, he’s practically _seething!_ What a precious little dumpling. Thor envisions having a great deal of fun with him in the future.

 

In high spirits, Thor turns back to the conversation at hand, laughing easily at Fandral’s stories and Volstagg’s bad jokes. He’s buzzing from the wine and stuffed to the brim with good food. Short of fucking Loki, Thor can’t think of any way this night could get better -

 

_And then it does._

 

The conversation soon turns to Thor’s coronation, about the planning process, the ceremony, and of course the much-anticipated fireworks display. The day could not come soon enough in Thor’s opinion - he’s waited long enough to be crowned King - but he’d rather give his planners a few extra weeks to prepare than to suffer through a lacklustre, underwhelming celebration. Thor wants alcohol and meat and flowers and red banners. Thor wants acrobats and musicians, magicians and dancing slaves. Thor wants a thousand live doves to be released as he is crowned. Thor wants Asgard’s fountains to flow with wine, and for all her people to feast to his greatness. Thor wants that day to be remembered for centuries to come. And some things, even for a King of Asgard, cannot be accomplished overnight.

 

“Loki here will be a featured dancer,” Thor adds, almost proudly, in between bites of his cream dessert. “He’s been working on it for almost three weeks straight. I’m sure he is very _inspired_ by the occasion.”

 

“A fine idea! There is no-one better suited to the task!” Volstagg turns to Loki. “Care to give us a preview?”

 

Loki startles at suddenly being addressed, and only answers when the five of him all look at him expectantly. He’s probably distracted, Thor thinks gleefully.

 

“Oh,” Loki says softly with a bow of his head. “Um, I shouldn’t. It’s not complete yet. My lord.”

 

“Come now, Loki. It’s not often we hear such high praise from your master! I’m deadly curious. Not just a snippet?” Volstagg teases playfully.

 

Then Thor is struck by a wonderful idea. The _best_ idea.

 

“Yes, Loki.” Thor agrees. “Give us a preview.”

 

Loki’s snaps his head towards Thor. “I…...It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

 

“Dance something else then. Let us appreciate your talents.”

 

Loki balks, clearly uncomfortable. Poor thing, he can barely walk without trembling, let alone dance!

 

Through clenched teeth, Loki says, “I have not prepared a dance for you this evening, Majesty.”

 

“Nonsense. Just do an old routine, we won’t know any different. These are my guests, and they want to be entertained. Isn’t that so?”

 

Sif and the warriors three exchange fleeting glances, clearly aware that something is out of sorts, but say nothing of it. They murmur their agreement.

 

Masking his delight, Thor assumes his best authoritative face - the one he uses when he wishes to intimidate. Thor knows he can be very, _very_  intimidating.

 

"Loki," he growls, “I will not be insulted in front of my friends."

 

At this, Loki shrinks, his shoulders slumping in defeat. He bows his head, mumbling, “As it pleases you."

 

“Excellent!” Thor claps his hands, his dark glare dissipating instantaneously. “Fetch the musicians.”

 

Loki excuses himself to go change, but before he has a chance to leave, Thor waves him close and then pulls him in by the upper arm.

 

“If you take them out I will know,” he warns.

 

Loki swallows, nodding once, and Thor releases him sharply. Loki pads off and Thor is already beside himself with anticipation.

 

In the meantime, the five of them settle in the sitting room for their usual post-supper hit of tobacco and brandy.

 

“I’m sure this isn’t necessary,” Fandral says. "He didn't look terribly keen."

 

Thor inhales as his pipe is lit by a serving girl. “What good is a dancing slave that doesn’t dance? Might as well make use of him. Besides,” Thor puffs on his pipe, “I have a feeling that tonight Loki will grace us with a particularly _fascinating_ performance.”

 

“That little thing could earn his keep tenfold simply by lying on his back!” Volstagg exclaims. He nudges Thor with a raunchy smile. “The flexibility alone…..”

 

Sif scoffs. “Unlike you, Volstagg, you can’t even _see_ your toes, let alone touch them.”

 

“Well, I can wipe my arse well enough, that’s all that matters!” Volstagg says indignantly. He turns to Thor, “So tell us. How is he?”

 

Thor exhales a cloud of smoke, smiling lazily, “I haven’t yet had him.”

 

They are, rather unsurprisingly, stunned.

 

“You _haven’t?!”_ Fandral exclaims.

 

“ _YOU,_ Thor?” Volstagg adds, “Thor, the Hammer of Asgard?”

 

Thor laughs at the utter shock on his face. “You say that like you cannot believe I am capable of any self-control at all! It’s called _delayed gratification_. You should try it sometime.”

 

“Oh, _you’re_ plenty capable. Your cock, on the other hand….”

 

“I’ll bed him the night of my coronation,” Thor says. “The sweetest end to the night's festivities. But fear not, you’ll be the first to get the full report.”

 

The conversation lulls on as the musicians set up against the wall. Loki follows soon after, his hair pulled back away from his face but still hanging loose down his back. His every step jingles brightly with the anklets wrapped around his feet - a lovely contrast to the sharp glower on his face.

 

“Ready?” Thor calls, impatient.

 

“Soon, my lord,” Loki replies, then turns to the musicians and speaks a few hushed words. A few moments later, he takes his position in the centre of the floor.

 

Thor cannot hide his mirth as Loki assumes his first pose. There’s a hard determined glint in his eye, the same one Loki gets whenever he steels himself to meet Thor’s challenge. It will be interesting to see how he handles _this._

 

The vielle player begins first, the melody slithering up and down, followed then by the drummist and the cellist. To his credit, Loki puts a brave face on things, and begins his dance as though it were any other performance. The music is slow, and Loki moves at a more leisurely pace. He is undeniably lovely to watch, and Thor almost forgets to take delight in his little prank. Loki twirls, his shift billowing around him, kicks high in the air and flips backwards. Still, Thor thinks he detects a hint of sloppiness that isn’t usually present in Loki’s dancing, as though his attention were perhaps…...divided. He stumbles slightly out of a turn, and one or twice his anklets jingle off the beat, but Thor is hardly displeased.

 

Loki is hot.

 

Wet.

 

 _Ready._  

 

Thor could slide into his tight little pussy right now, if he so chose. He could throw Loki to the ground, his friends be damned, and fuck the little slut like he deserves. He could bend him over the table, or hold him aloft against the wall.

 

Thor could do these things, and he will - when the time is right. But that isn’t the point of this exercise.

 

So for now, Thor too must endure the torment of being left unsatisfied.

 

Loki whirls frantically with the rising pulses of music, faster and faster, and finishes a dramatic drop to the ground. He lies still, panting raggedly, his fingers clenched into tight fists. For a second, Thor thinks he might’ve made himself come.

 

No. There is no relief on Loki’s face, only agonizing arousal. In fact, Loki rather looks like he’s nursing a cramp in his stomach. Perhaps that’s what he’d prefer his audience to believe. His thighs clamp tightly together, and he rolls his hips slightly, almost unnoticeably, as though he were trying to grind the beads inside himself.

 

Thor claps, barely able to contain a triumphant grin, as Loki lies unmoving on the floor.

 

“Bravo! Oh ho ho, Well done, Loki my sweet! Truly a masterful performance.”

 

“.......Um, is he alright?” Sif asks.

 

“He’s fine.” Thor gets up and stalks towards Loki’s prone form. Loki doesn’t budge, as if he thinks he could render himself invisible by just lying still enough. “Up you come, Loki, don’t be so dramatic,” Thor chides, scooping his runtling up by the bicep and hauling him to his feet, wobbly as a newborn colt. Loki whimpers as he is handled and hangs his head, shying away from his audience’s stares. Up close, Thor can definitely see that his whole body is thrumming with the urge to come, poor thing. Thor thinks he’s been tormented enough for one evening.

 

“My friends,” Thor says warmly, “The hour is late, and I am tired. I thank you for your company, but I think it’s high time Loki put me to bed. I will send for you tomorrow morning, and we will go riding. It has been too long since I have been borne by my beloved Gullfaxi.”

 

They rise, nodding their heads in respect. They can clearly see something is amiss, but know better than to comment on it.

 

“Goodnight, goodnight. Sleep well,” Thor says, clapping. each on the shoulder in turn. They wish him goodnight in return, then take their leave.

 

As soon they are alone, Thor’s face splits into a wild, maniacal grin. He curls over, laughing so hard he has to clutch his stomach.

           

“Oh, Loki!” Thor says. “Your face! So sour, pet! It’s like you were trying to set me aflame with those looks you were shooting me!” He pinches Loki’s cheek in a mocking gesture of affection.“You’re lucky I find that petulant scowl of yours so precious. On any other slave, I’d have it flogged off.”

 

“I am glad to have amused you so,” Loki says dryly.

 

“You did,” Thor agrees cheerfully, picking up his brandy glass and downing the rest of it. “Very much so. Although I must admit, it wasn’t the best performance I’ve seen from you. Your service, too, was lacking. You’ve been, shall we say, somewhat _distracted_ all evening.”

 

He glances at Loki, darkly amused. “I assume you are still wearing them.”

 

“Yes,” Loki answers.

 

“I trust I don’t have to check?”

 

Loki shakes his head no.

 

“Very good.” Thor says, pleased. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind Loki’s ear and leans in close. “Not so much fun when you’re the one being teased, is it?”

 

Loki’s eyes flit side to side, looking everywhere but at his master.

 

 _“Is it?”_ Thor snarls, gripping him by the scruff.

 

“No,” Loki mutters. “It’s not. My lord.”

 

“That’s right.” Satisfied, Thor releases Loki, sets his brandy glass aside and flops down on the couch in front of his hearth. He lays on his back and sighs contentedly. What a delightful evening! Thor likes nothing more than a good meal, good company, and good _entertainment._

 

“Elvish men have their womenfolk wear those beads while they are away,” Thor says lazily. “To make them eager for coupling and intensify their pleasure. Of course, I was not sure if they’d work on a runtling like you, given your….” He looks down, “....anatomy. But it is very encouraging to see you’re so responsive.”

 

“Then we are both of us surprised,” Loki mumbles, and Thor laughs.

 

“Pleasantly so, Loki. Pleasantly so. Although I would have fucked you anyways, if only to wipe that insufferable smirk off your face.”

 

Loki shrinks some more at this, pursing his lips.

 

“Really, you should be grateful if I deign to grant you release,” Thor goes on loftily, looking down at his nails, “Or even see to your pleasure at all. I could keep you like this indefinitely. Have you constantly writhing and desperate and pleading for my cock…...”

 

Thor glances at Loki, and from the frown on his face, Thor can see this is not an option he’d like.

 

“But I am a kind master, magnanimous and just,” Thor declares, gesturing to Loki. “Come here.”

 

Loki hesitates, uncertainty writ plain on his face.

 

“Loki. Here.” Thor snaps his fingers impatiently. “My mercy has its limits.”

 

At length, Loki obeys, shuffling towards the couch. Thor doesn’t miss the wary look in his eyes, but rather than being displeased, he positively revels in it. It’s high time Loki came to fear him.

 

Once he’s in range, Thor pulls Loki down so that he’s kneeling astride one of Thor’s massive thighs. Loki gulps nervously, his chest rising and falling in rapid pants.

 

“There you are.” Thor smiles, stroking Loki’s leg. “Lighten up, kitten! If I were going to fuck you I would have done it already. We had an agreement, did we not?”

 

Loki lets out a breathy laugh, incredulous.

 

“There are still two weeks to your coronation, my lord.”

 

“Aye,” Thor agrees. “And I think you will come to regret having made me wait.”

 

Thor takes Loki’s hips in hand and gets things going, pressing Loki down and forcing his hips to rock in small circles. Thor imagines the pleasure balls rolling inside his tight little cunny, bringing him closer and closer to climax; he’s probably soaking his underthings through by now. Thor is in no mood for mercy, however. Loki is the one who chose to play this silly game. Let him see how he likes it. If he wants his release, then this is how he shall come to have it, by rutting against Thor’s leg like a dog.

 

Loki gasps, his mouth falling open.

 

“That’s it,” Thor encourages. “Poor thing, look at you, all wound up.”

 

Loki falls forward, one hand pressing against Thor’s chest for support. His eyes are closed and his breath comes in broken pants; his cheeks pink with arousal and probably more than a little embarrassment. He’s so wanton like this; so honest in his pleasure, now that he’s been stripped raw.

 

Loki grinds harder now, needing less and less encouragement from Thor. Thor presses one hand to Loki’s stomach, just to feel his taut belly flex and strain with his every movement. His skin is feverish underneath the flimsy material.

 

“Keep going,” Thor murmurs, mesmerized. “Come on, kitten.”

 

Loki ruts himself more frantically against Thor’s thigh, and Thor must admit it’s quite a sight: Loki throws his head back and moans brokenly, biting his lip, eyes glazed. The sinful image of Loki actually riding his cock springs to mind, and Thor cannot suppress the groan that escapes his throat. He grips Loki’s hips harder, directing his movements, especially when Loki inadvertently rubs up against Thor’s cock. Thor had been half-hard since he first pulled Loki aside, and that’s even _after_ he had excused himself to be serviced by that blonde page. He’d thought that would take the edge off his lust, but Thor wasn’t counting on just how unbearably arousing Loki is when he’s in the throes.

 

Well. No matter what this runtling does, Thor is not going to give in. He’s King of Asgard, damnit, he can show some restraint, no matter what Volstagg thinks.

Thor reaches down and thumbs at the place between Loki’s legs. Loki closes his soft, delicate hand over Thor’s. In truth,Thor still isn’t quite sure what Loki’s got under his underthings (Thor being rather unacquainted with the naked Jotunn form), but Loki seems to like the way Thor rubs at him, so Thor persists, determined to see Loki come apart.

 

“Come on, Loki,” Thor repeats. “Come on, sweet thing. I want to see it.”

 

Loki makes a final gasp, then convulses erratically, rolling his hips almost helplessly against Thor’s leg and fingers. He is truly beautiful when he comes, his lips and cheeks flushed pink and his eyelashes fanned against his cheeks, unabashedly erotic.

 

“Fuck,” Loki pants, falling forward. He clutches desperately at the fabric of Thor’s shirt, and Thor hushes him until he finally stills, the tension seeping from him like a sprung trap. His brow furrows and he repeats, “Fuck.”

 

Once he’s come down, Loki covers his face with his hand. _Embarrassed_ , Thor thinks smugly - humbled by his most base animal urges, by the pleasure Thor has coaxed from his body. Loki clearly isn’t sure what he should do now that’s he’s climaxed. There is no way he’s unaware of Thor’s erection digging into his leg. But for the moment, Thor is quite content to let him stew in his discomfort.

 

“There now,” Thor says almost fondly, rubbing his thigh. “Didn’t I tell you you’d enjoy it?” He pries Loki’s hand off his face, “Don’t hide from me.”

 

Loki’s eyes are glazed; his orgasm definitely seems to have taken the edge off his scowl. He looks softer now. Raw. If Thor had to describe it, he’d say Loki almost looked _vulnerable._

 

And Gods, doesn't that make Thor want to sink inside him.

 

Loki looks down at Thor with an unreadable, glazed expression on his face, his lips and chin glistening in the soft firelight. His mouth opens once, twice, and then he curls over, pressing his face to Thor's, seemingly to seek out his kiss.

 

"Whoa!" Thor pushes Loki back with a hand around his delicate throat. Automatically, he says, "You cannot kiss me."

 

Loki's brows knot in confusion. He blinks twice, and Thor might be mistaken but he thinks he catches a flash of hurt in Loki's eyes.  

 

"You are not high enough in station," Thor says, though not ungently. A kiss on the mouth is something shared between those of similar rank, and Thor has never permitted his loveslaves and concubines the privilege. They must not delude themselves. They must remember who and what they are to Thor.

 

Still, Thor can't help but wonder what Loki's lips taste like, if they are as soft as they look. He's never really kissed anyone before. 

 

"Oh," is all Loki says.

 

As a conciliatory gesture, Thor takes one of Loki's delicate hands in his and kisses the back of his wrist. 

 

"Come," Thor says, blue eyes gleaming, as he tugs Loki back down so that Loki is pressed flush to Thor's side. He hikes one of Loki's lean legs up over his thighs, while simultaneously trying to ignore his own hard cock, which is throbbing insistently in his breeches. Not for the first time, Thor wonders why he allows himself to be tortured so. 

 

"You must be eager to have them out." Thor snakes his hand behind Loki, hitching up the shift. Loki whimpers, his body going tense, but he stills to allow Thor access. With little finesse, Thor tugs Loki's underthings aside and slips his hand between the soft mounds of Loki's ass, lingering a moment to savour the taut, youthful firmness. He rubs the pad of his finger on the tight furl of Loki's hole, just to remind Loki that Thor owns this too - Thor owns him in his entirety - and there is nothing Loki can deny him. 

 

Loki freezes, his entire body going stiff; but Thor only chuckles. He increases the pressure, but not enough to breach Loki's body. Thor's cock twitches eagerly at the thought of fucking Loki here too.  

 

"There are many ways to make love," Thor says. "Many ways to find pleasure, my sweet. I have much to teach you."

 

Finally, Thor sinks his hand further down, where Loki is warm and humid and  _so so_ wet. Thor groans from the feel of it alone. Thor slips his fingers inside and pulls the toy out gently, noting how Loki's expression tightens as each bead pops out.  

 

Thor hums as he brings them up for inspection. Loki has creamed them; the beads are slick and shiny with his juices. He's almost tempted to have Loki lick them clean, to have him  _taste himself_ , but decides against it when he observes Loki's downcast eyes and blush-pink face. He's learned his lesson, Thor decides. That is enough for tonight.

 

"You did well," Thor says, beaming. "I am most pleased." He folds the beads in Loki's delicate hand. "A worthy gift for my most dutiful, most faithful, most beautiful slave. Now, what do you say?"

 

"Thank you, my lord," Loki mumbles.

 

"That's right." Thor's grin widens. He wants desperately to have Loki finish him off, but somehow, he feels like that would diminish his victory. So instead, Thor thwacks Loki's rump good-naturedly. "Rest. You must be weary. I will call on you again tomorrow." 

 

Loki nods, extricating himself from Thor's grasp. He does a curtsy-like gesture and pads off, still wobbling on his legs. Thor rubs at where Loki's warmth still clings to the fabric of his robes. He hums, pulling out his hard cock and stroking himself leisurely. He could easily call on someone to finish him, but Thor has not even the patience to wait another moment longer. He comes shortly thereafter, smelling the scent of Loki's arousal on his fingers.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the curious, I own a pair of [these](http://www.lelo.com/index.php?collectionName=femme-homme&groupName=LUNA-BEADS)
> 
> they may or may not have contributed to the writing of this chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do apologize for the lateness of this chapter. I wrote a [hiddlesworth crack](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2153724/chapters/4707018), and then i had massive writer’s block, then uni/work/dance consumed my life, blah blah blah, i have no real excuse 
> 
> also, i changed the very ending of chapter four, i felt like it was weird and needed fixing. some details become hugely important later. I feel like i’ll have to go back into older chapters and rewrite bits to make it more coherent with all the stuff i threw into this chapter. this shit is getting hugely complicated now….wasn’t this supposed to be a PWP? 
> 
> I would like to thank everyone who encouraged me and messaged me during my hiatus, you guys are ~~a horrible influence~~ absolutely lovely: [Satanssin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/satanssin), [umakoo](http://archiveofourown.org/users/umakoo), [rangerdanger](http://archiveofourown.org/users/rangerdanger), [calamitycain](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityCain) and [dangereuse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dangereuse) especially <3 GO READ THEIR FICS RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!!
> 
> And if you commented on my fics and I haven't responded, I AM SO FREAKING SORRY, i got so overwhelmed with life and I kinda lost a handle on my replies. but i read every fucking one of them and clutched them to my chest, crying and dripping snot down my face because of how nice you people all are. knowing people cared enough about this trainwreck of a fic to leave me little encouraging notes......ughhhh it just means the world to me.
> 
> Anyway, on with the show! hopefully there aren't too many mistakes. enjoy <3

_“I would like to see you.”_

 

_Loki looks at the floor, his face hot._

 

_“I…..mean you no harm.” Odin’s brow furrows, and he reaches out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Loki’s ear. “It has been so long since I have gazed upon such beauty. Forgive an old man his foolishness.”_

 

_Loki could almost roll his eyes at this, if he weren’t so nervous. He thought to be smooth, seductive, charming, elegant; instead he stands here, quivering like a lost child. Perhaps his trepidation is working in his favour, because Odin tilts his face up with a finger underneath Loki’s chin._

 

_“You needn’t fear me, child.”_

 

_Loki is well used to being lied to, but the open, heartfelt sincerity in the Allfather’s face gives him pause. Loki could almost believe that he means it._

 

_Shakily, Loki unties his belt, then lets loose the shoulder clasps from his shift. The fabric billows to the ground, leaving him nude before the King of Asgard’s gaze. A chilly draft prickles his skin, but does little to soothe his nerves. He lets his mind wander elsewhere for the briefest moment - to the icy homeland he might never see again. This is why he’s here, isn’t it? He should be relieved he’d gotten this far. That they’d gotten him into Odin’s private rooms is a victory in and of itself._

 

_Loki is not sure what to say or do, so he just stands there dumbly, allowing Odin to stare his fill. It couldn’t be more than a few moments but Loki feels as though time has congealed to molasses._

 

_“My word,” Odin says reverently. “So young.”_

 

_It is the curse of this body that Loki does look young - perhaps only seventeen to the Allfather’s eyes - although in fact he is not much younger than Helblindi. This is Loki’s edge; the ace in his sleeve. On the surface, he has all the innocent charm of a naive, fresh-faced youngling. Inside, he has the cunning of a nearly grown adult Jotunn. It’s in his best interest to keep up this facade, Loki knows, so he widens his eyes and hunches his shoulders. Maybe this way Odin will be gentle with him, and will take care not to tear him._

 

_When one is in the business of seducing the mighty King of Asgard, it isn’t hard to make the frightened-rabbit-act convincing._

 

_Odin offers his hand, and Loki takes it unthinkingly, although it seems like an odd gesture. There is a gentleness to the old man that Loki simply wasn’t expecting. Is this truly the same God-King who smote his brethren and dashed their heads upon icy rock?_

 

_Delicately, Odin guides him to step into the bathtub, and Loki crouches down into the lukewarm water. At least it’s not hot. Loki may have been bleached, but he has still retained his Jotun distaste for heat. The Allfather sits next to the tub’s edge on a small stool._

 

_“Is that too warm?” Odin asks._

 

_“No, it’s fine,” Loki replies shakily. “Majesty.”_

 

_Odin nods, and Loki arranges himself so that he’s kneeling, the water only a few inches deep, but enough to cover past the juncture of his legs. He lathers a washcloth and slides it down his shoulders. The show goes on, as much a performance as when he’d first danced for Odin earlier that evening. This time, however, it’s eerily quiet, and there’s nothing to distract him from the heavy weight of Odin’s stare._

 

_Loki steals a quick, shy glance up at him for the briefest moment, just to gauge what the old man is thinking, what he might intend. But Odin’s face is a blank mask of tranquil melancholy._

 

_Odin smiles softly._

 

_Loki smiles back, and ducks his head._

 

_“You are very beautiful,” Odin tells him at length._

 

_This is nothing Loki hasn’t heard all his life. What good is beauty when he is destined to live his life like this?_

 

_He looks down modestly.  “I am pleased you find me so.”_

 

_Odin chuckles, but it is weary, self-deprecating. “I regret that I cannot even look away from you. I must be making you uncomfortable.”_

 

_Loki’s mouth opens and closes, but the elderly king does not seem to expect Loki to respond._

 

_He turns somber, “Are they....kind to you here?”_

 

_He says this like he’s seriously considering taking up Grandl’s offer. Loki masks his triumphant smirk as best as he is able._

 

_“Forgive me, Great King,” Loki says, his eye casts downwards. He shifts slightly in the water. “I would prefer not to say.”_

 

_“I see,” Odin says, a frown tugging his lips. There’s pity in his face, and it is indeed warranted. Loki is a pitiful creature._

 

_Loki sweeps his hair aside to offer Odin a glimpse of his long neck, and draws attention to it by smoothing the washcloth over it._

 

_“May I?” Odin asks, gesturing to the nearby pitcher. Loki nods, and the Allfather holds it under the faucet until it’s nearly full. Obediently, Loki tilts his head back to let him trickle water over his hair, wetting it completely. Loki wrings out the excess moisture, then massages his favourite scented oil into the ends. He combs out the knots with an ivory comb.Odin is ever silent at his side. His stare is unnerving, and Loki’s hands shake._

 

_“I could give you a good life,” Odin says out of nowhere. “I would not mistreat you. You would want for nothing.”_

 

_He speaks as though Loki had a choice in the matter. Loki could almost laugh. If given half a chance, he would go to Asgard, Helblindi had made that perfectly clear. How he’d be treated there is irrelevant._

 

_“I would like that,” Loki says softly. “To go with you.” He lowers his voice to nearly a whisper, as if he’s about to tell a dark secret, “I do not much want to stay here.”_

 

_He lets Odin make of that what he will. It’s partly the truth, anyway. The King’s face softens, and he nods. He’s quiet thereafter._

 

 _For lack of anything else to do, Loki continues to lather himself and rinse the suds off with water, as if he hadn’t come up to Odin’s chamber already primed and prepped and scrubbed clean. Sometimes, it feels like Odin is looking_ through _him rather than_ at _him. It’s hard to tell with that patch covering half his face. Loki is antsy; he wants to get things moving. That way, it’ll be over with quicker._

 

_He leans back somewhat, spreading his legs. Loki runs his hands over his chest, his nipples. This usually feels pleasurable, but Loki is so preoccupied that he’s sure he couldn’t bring himself off even if he were straddling the old rattly water pump back home, as he used to do, before Helblindi caught him and tattled to their sire. He brings his fingers lower, and lower. He lets his head fall back and sighs. He parts his flesh._

 

_Odin snaps back to the present with a start._

 

_“Loki, no,” Odin, says, horrified. “You must stop.”_

 

_Loki has no time to even think before he’s gathered to his feet and enveloped in a large, fluffy towel. Had he done something wrong?_

 

_The confusion must register on Loki’s face because then Odin growls angrily and says, “You would think this is why you’re here.”_

 

_Loki is lifted out of the tub and set on the ground. Odin rubs Loki’s back vigorously, but not ungently. It’s more a comforting gesture than anything, and Loki is, momentarily, thrown off-balance. Why else did Odin allow Loki to be sent to his rooms, if not for this?_

 

_“My virginity is yours,” Loki says, somewhat dumbfounded. “It would be a great honor to give it to you.”_

_Odin sighs, and he seems so tired. So old._

 

_“Is that what they told you to tell me?”_

 

_“No, Great King, it is simply the truth. I would gladly lie down for you.”_

 

_“You’re too small,” Odin shakes his head._

 

_“I am old enough,” Loki says, “I am not yet fertile, but if you wanted children -”_

 

_“Loki, enough!” Odin says. “Gods above! I am far too old to sire children, let alone to bed one as young as you. You yourself are little more than a child.”_

 

_Loki quickly looks away. “Forgive me, majesty. I did not mean to insist…..”_

 

_“No. No apologies, child. I am not angry. Not with you.” He cradles Loki’s cheek, his face wistful, “I would not have your purity corrupted. I could not sully you with these hands.”_

 

_“Will you send me away, then?” Loki asks, brows knotting, “I was sent here…..for you. To please you. And I fear my masters’ wrath should they find I have not done my duty….”_

 

_“Of course not, Loki,” Odin soothes. “Hush, now. Of course not. Let us retire together so that they think what they will. And tomorrow morning I will arrange to have you brought back with me to Asgard.”_

 

 _Loki looks up, momentarily stunned. He hadn’t expected it to be_ this _easy. “T-truly?”_

 

_“If that is what you would like.”_

 

_The tears of relief that spring to Loki’s eyes are not entirely of his own doing, but Loki plays them anyway._

 

_“I have upset you….”_

 

_“No,” Loki shakes his head vehemently. “No, Great King, I am happy.” He offers a watery smile. “I am a wretched creature, undeserving of such kindness.”_

 

_Odin reaches for a clean dressing gown for Loki to wear. Loki sniffles and allows Odin - Odin, mighty God-King of Asgard, ha! - to clothe him again._

 

_“Hush,” Odin says again, but his voice is warm, even fond. He strokes Loki’s cheek with a withered knuckle. “No more words. We are both tired. Be good and help an old man to bed.”_

 

_Odin shuffles to the bedchamber, Loki in tow, and seats himself on the edge. He pauses._

 

_“I would like very much to hold you in the night, Loki, if you will let me. It has…...been a long time since I have felt the warmth of another as I slept……”_

_He says this self-consciously, even sheepishly, and Loki is careful to appear accepting and sweet -  even if he does find the proposition ridiculous, bordering on pathetic._

 

_Loki smiles and climbs in, nestling himself at Odin’s side. His still-wet hair dampens the sleeve of Odin’s nightrobe, but Odin doesn’t ask him to move. He rests his hand above the King’s, lacing their fingers together. Odin rumbles contentedly, clearly pleased with the gesture._

 

_Perhaps this won’t be as impossible as he’d first thought._

 

***

 

Loki wakes in the night with a start and has to blink several times to remember where he is. The moonlight streaming through the golden lattice-window casts intricate weblike shadows on the floor, indicating that dawn is still hours away. He can hear muffled conversation through the harem walls: Amora, he thinks - Thor’s head concubine, newly arrived from the country - and that other girl whose name Loki can’t remember. Don’t they sleep? _They_ don’t have to get up in the morning for rehearsals, run themselves ragged to fluff their master’s ego. Being a living testament to Thor’s virility, it seems, is more than enough to earn their keep.

 

Loki rolls over, holding a pillow down over his head both to silence the noise and to keep out the memories that threaten to spring to mind. They come, unbidden, despite his best efforts: Thor’s hand on his stomach, the solid mass of him between Loki’s legs, of his breath hot on Loki’s neck -

 

Loki slaps a hand over his face, trying to physically shake the memory out of his mind’s eye. He can’t _believe_ he’d let that brute humiliate him so! Subject him to such mocking torment, and refuse him a kiss afterwards. Loki curses his body for reacting the way it did. Like a whore. A common whore.

 

The thing is, it wasn’t even the cursed beads inside him, nor the feeling of Thor’s fingers on his clit, that made Loki topple over the edge. It wasn’t the feeling of Thor’s hot palm against his tummy, nor the maddening softness of the silk against his nipples. If it were only these things, Loki might’ve been able to live with himself, explaining away his body’s betrayal as a mere physiological reaction.

 

But no. The fact of the matter is, at certain angles, Thor has Odin’s gentleness to his face. And Loki was stupid enough to take solace in it.

 

Loki had never really thought of Thor as _Odin’s son,_ exactly. He knew intellectually that this was so, but he never saw a resemblance in any meaningful sense…...until that moment. It was the way Thor looked at Loki: without malice, without cruelty.  Lust, yes, but his voice had been soft and sincere, lacking its usual caustic sharpness. Thor had whispered sweet words of endearment that Loki, foolishly, had taken to heart. And Loki had let himself get lost in the fantasy that maybe Thor cared for him beyond the carnal pleasure offered by Loki’s flesh. That maybe Thor thought he was special.

 

Loki is delusional. Thor has others; that’s plain enough. He shouldn’t be surprised Thor has chosen to fill his harem. And yet, Loki still found himself stung when he realized he’d be getting company.

 

And some companions they are, too. Loki would gladly let Thor get him with child if it meant living a life of carefree luxury for the rest of his days. As far as Loki could tell, all Thor’s women do is lie around, pluck their body hair, gossip, and coo over their bastard children. Loki knows he’d go mad of boredom in a month, but still. It’s the _principle_ of the thing.

 

 Well. _Loki_ has no body hair to pluck. So there’s that. 

 

Loki holds himself tighter and steels himself against the lump that threatens to form in his throat. Pathetic. How he’d be mocked if Helblindi knew how sentimental Loki had grown.

 

Loki is tired and grumpy come morning. A baby’s cry wakes him - the latest of Thor’s brood. Loki groans and wills the child to shut up. At this point, sleeping down at the dance studio would be preferable. He drags himself up off the floor, the exhaustion bone-deep even after a night’s rest. The beds here are floor-level, with the mattresses sunk into the ground - probably so that new mothers can sleep with their infants without worrying that their babies will roll off the edge. Half his floor is made of springy mattress, and there’s a full complement of pillows and cushions along the perimeter. Loki is grateful, at least, that he wasn’t issued a cellmate.

 

Loki dresses and makes his way down to the main gate. There is only one other exit, a passageway that leads up to the imperial suite. Only Thor has that key.

 

The gates are locked; the guard on the other side stubbornly refuses to open them until morning breaks.

 

 “You will have to wait until the sun rises. No exemptions will be made.”

 

 _“Fine,”_ Loki hisses, rattling the gate.He paces outside until the appointed time, and then all but tramples the harem guard on his way out. Loki stubbornly, impossibly, decides then and there that he’ll not ever let himself rot away behind those gilded bars.

 

Rehearsals for the coronation are frantic at best; chaotic at worst. The palace swarms with visitors and servants, all bustling about in a mad, incoherent frenzy. The influx of people is overwhelming, and the noise they generate exacerbates Loki’s headaches. Loki is confident enough in his solo, (even if thinking about actually performing it at the coronation fills his stomach with dread), but he’d also been granted a place in the chorus for the opening number alongside hundreds of other court dancers. Their dance style is different from the one Loki was trained in, and although he is able to keep pace, he feels off balance and out of his element. They all whisper about him. They knew he was Odin’s, perhaps had even seen him dance before. They also know he holds Thor’s favour now. Loki haughtily tilts his nose in the air, just to aggravate them further. Once he carves himself a place in Thor’s immediate household - in his bed - their gossip will count for nothing. He tells himself this over and over until he almost believes it.

 

The dance mistress might as well crack a whip, for the amount she barks at them.

 

 _“_ Sickle feet, _sickle feet!!”_ She hollers, somehow louder than the entire orchestra. Loki is frankly amazed at the vocal projection of such a tiny woman. They’re rehearsing in the Imperial throne room in full costume today - one of the few rehearsals left before their performance. On the night of the coronation there will be thousands of people here watching. This all suddenly feels so _real;_ Loki’s stomach gets in knots if he lets himself dwell on it too much.

 

“Hey!” Loki shouts, as the girl in front of him freezes abruptly. Loki barely manages to come to a halt in time and nearly trips over her bowed back. He’s about to snap at her to watch where the fuck she’s going, but holds his tongue when he realizes that _everyone_ is stopping.

 

There are whispers all around, _the king, the king,_ and now they’re all dropping to one knee. Loki follows suit, briefly scanning the cavernous throne room. Thor is off in the distance at the base of the stairs, speaking to the head planner and the dance mistress. Even from afar, he’s utterly resplendent in his red cape and official armour - and very hard to miss.

 

 _All this madness for one person._ Loki is suddenly struck by the very real feeling that he _is_ just one in a thousand to Thor, that any of these dancers would lift their skirts for him in a heartbeat. The thought churns his stomach unpleasantly.

 

They are much too far away for Loki to hear what they’re saying, but Thor’s face seems cheerful enough, indicating that he’s pleased with whatever he’d just seen. At the impatient tap-tap-tap of the dance mistress’ baton on the marble floor, the dance chorus rises to attention. It’s hard to tell, but Loki thinks Thor is staring right at him.

 

Did he just….wink?

 

Loki averts his eyes, blushing.

 

Damn him.

 

The dance mistress barks, “From the top of the main chorus. Places. _Places._ ”

 

There is a vicious glare in her eyes that _dares_ anyone to miss the jette in the third refrain while the soon-to-be king is watching.

 

The musicians give them eight counts to prepare, and then it begins.

 

Loki performs automatically, his muscle memory serving him well. He ought to feel less nervous in a dance troupe of over a hundred, but he somehow he can still sense the heavy weight of Thor’s stare upon him. Or perhaps it’s just his imagination.

 

They finish with a final pose and the music stops. It’s absolutely silent with anticipation as the head planners await Thor to pass judgement. Thor doesn’t clap. Instead, he turns to the dance mistress and makes some comment. She replies and bows, and Thor takes his leave. Everyone drops to a knee until he’s gone.

 

The dance mistress taps her baton on the ground.

 

“Again,” she barks, and the dancers rush to take their places. The lack of an onslaught of criticism means Thor had been pleased, Loki surmises. He takes his place in the formation and smiles, breathing a sigh of relief.

 

***

 

Loki is exhausted by the time he trudges up the stairs to the harem. He craves silence after spending the day going over the _same section again and again and again_. Evidently, their performance for Thor the day before hadn’t quite met the dance-mistress’ standards. She was especially brutal today, but Loki respects her for it. In this way, she rather reminds him of Angrboda. Loki gets the sense that she plays no favourites based on idle gossip. She does not seem to care that Loki is a Jotunn runtling, nor that he’s a resident of the palace harem. Skill and merit are her only considerations. Loki appreciates that in a person, for it is a quality so rarely to be found.

 

Loki can hear his fellow harem inmates’ titters echoing down the hall long before he gets to the gate. The guard lets him in and locks the door behind him. Loki mutters curses under his breath, not bothering to hide his contempt. Curfew is set at eight o’clock, and Loki has hardly a minute left to spare. He had to jog to make it back in time so as not to be the recipient of another scolding from the Harem steward. Harem steward - Ha! More like the harem gaoler. Loki never wandered far from Odin’s side, but at least he had the _option_ to do so. He was never _caged_ like this..

 

His only consolation is the aroma awaiting him in the common room. For all that he despises the harem, Loki can’t complain of not being fed properly.

 

Then he finds what has made the women all a-twitter:

 

 

The soon-to-be-King is lounging on a couch in the courtyard garden surrounded by his resident concubines. His hair is swept back in a ponytail, and he dons a casual, yet still regal wine-red jacket. He looks frustratingly handsome, and he must know it. His concubines sit around him adoringly, each vying for a shred of his affection. One is playing a flute; another, a harp.  Others cradle their children by Thor, hoping for a chance to place them in Thor’s lap. Thor has recognized all the children here, Loki knows, even though none of them are official heirs. Only a Queen Consort can provide that. And Thor is yet unmarried….

 

Loki shakes his head, as if to rid himself of that train of thought before it fully materializes. He truly is delusional.

 

“Ah Loki!” Thor beams and waves him forward. There is a child on his lap - a blonde boy, perhaps no more than four. Amora’s elder child. The boy is fondling a small toy horse which Thor perhaps had just given him. Thor likes his children well enough, Loki thinks, but probably only because he sees them sparingly, and only when they’re clean, fed, and happy. There are only two other mothers here. They both hover over Thor, eager for their turn to dangle their offspring in Thor’s face.

 

Loki bows, all the way down to the ground then back up again.

 

“Majesty.”

 

Thor pops a chocolate into his mouth. Beside him, Amora narrows her eyes.

 

“At rehearsals, I presume?”

 

“Aye,” Loki answers.

 

“The date draws near. You must be getting nervous.”

 

“A little,” Loki confesses, shifting on his feet. He’s tired, and wants nothing more than to stuff his belly and go to bed. He’s not in the mood for Thor’s games while all the other women are about, closely scrutinizing his every move.

 

“I am beside myself with anticipation,” Thor oozes. “Everyone of importance will be in attendance, from across the Nine Realms. There will even be ambassadors from Jotunheim present. The first Jotunn dignitaries in half a century.”

 

Well, isn’t _that_ interesting. Loki itches to ask _who;_ there are only a few noble clans left in Jotunheim, and he’d known them all, back before he was swept under the rug and sent away on this cockamamie mission. So long as the new ambassador is not from that family...

 

“Oh,” Is all Loki says. His face betrays nothing.

 

“But you needn’t worry pet. I was most impressed with what I saw yesterday. Even in a cast of hundreds you shine like a jewel.”

 

Loki startles, taken off guard by the earnestness of Thor’s compliment. No hint of malice or sarcasm taints Thor’s voice. He means it, Loki realizes.

 

“Thank you,” Loki says softly, bowing his head in a display of modesty, although deep inside he preens. “Master.”

 

“Mama says you’re a boy and a girl,” The boy pipes up from Thor’s lap, very very loudly, breaking Loki’s train of thought.

 

A ghost of a smile tugs at Thor’s lips; Loki’s mouth drops open.

 

“Njall!” Amora chides gently from Thor’s side, “I do apologize.” She speaks more to Thor than to Loki, “He’s at that stage, all these questions, night and day! So precocious, our boy.”

 

The boy goes on, “You don’t look like a girl.”

 

“He’s both.” Thor explains, ignoring the child’s mother. “Both a girl _and_ a boy, at once.” A mischievous twinkle flashes in his eyes. Lowly, with his eyes locked on Loki’s, he says, ”That’s what makes him so special to _daddy._ ”

 

Thor winks at him again, cheeky bastard, and Loki’s face instantly flushes with heat. He might’ve rolled his eyes if he weren’t so suddenly mortified. It’s that smug, idiotic smile on Thor’s face! What Loki wouldn’t give to blast it off with a bolt of magic.

 

The boy’s expression is perplexed; he’s clearly unsatisfied with this answer. “How can he be both?”

 

“I think it’s time for the children to be put to bed.” Thor announces with a chuckle, clearly having had his fill of his children for the time being. He unceremoniously lifts his boy off his lap and hands him to Amora, who, Loki is pleased to note, is failing miserably at hiding her scowl.  Jovially, Thor waves them off. “The hour is late. To bed with you all.”

 

“Not you.” Thor barks at Loki. “You stay here.”

 

Loki stays grounded in place as the other women file out. They wait patiently in silence until it’s just the two of them left in the garden. Thor’s eyes trace up and down Loki’s body, inspecting him like a specimen on display. Loki cannot even speak until Thor addresses him first.

 

“And are you still angry with me?” Thor asks at length, reclining onto his couch. He scratches his belly leisurely, looking fully sated and lazy. “That same frown again, my dear; it suits you ill.”

 

Loki forces out a watery smile, and stifles the accompanying feeling of embarrassment. “No, my lord. It was all in good fun, as you say.”

 

Thor laughs brightly. “I apologize for Njall,” he drawls, not sounding sorry at all. “You know how children are.”

 

Loki shrugs, a non-committal gesture. “I did not know _that_ was common knowledge.”

 

“The fact of your anatomy? The rumor mill churns out all sorts of nonsense, but occasionally one hits upon a truth or two.” Thor swirls his wine in his glass. “Many things are whispered about you.”

 

Loki had always been aware of this - his presence at Odin’s side couldn’t have gone without raising a few eyebrows. He’d done his best to seal his ears and concentrate on the task at hand, but the constant scrutiny had often gotten the better of him. It’s hard to maintain face when your reputation is constantly dragged through the mud.

 

“I heard that you cast a love-spell on my father.”

 

Loki’s head snaps up, “What?”

 

Thor chuckles, waving his hand dismissively. “Ridiculous, I know. There is no such things as love-spells. But it certainly would explain a lot, wouldn’t it?”

 

Loki chuckles nervously. “Ridiculous,” he echoes.

 

“I heard he found you bathing naked in a pond, like a water-nymph. That you said you’d tell his fortune in exchange for a kiss.”

 

At this, Loki laughs, shaking his head. _That’s_ one he hadn’t heard before. “Does your court have nothing better to do, than lounge about and conjure such fanciful stories?”

 

“Evidently not,” Thor says. “That’s not even the worst of them, I fear. But it makes for juicy gossip.”

 

“It may disappoint your Majesty to learn,” Loki says, “that my first meeting with the All-father was nowhere near so romantic. I was given to him as tribute from a Vanir lord. No magic ponds or love-spells to speak of, I’m afraid.”

 

“I see,” Thor says, cocking an eyebrow. “But you _can_ tell fortunes?”

 

“Indeed, my lord,” Loki teases, noting Thor’s playful attitude and high spirits. He has Thor’s attention; he may as well make the most of it.  “Shall I tell yours?”

 

Thor is intrigued by this; he nods his assent and waves Loki forward. Loki sits down beside him, reaching for Thor’s hand. Loki uses one of his own hands to support Thor’s wrist, the other to trace the lines on his palm with a delicate fingertip.

 

“Let me see,” Loki says, inspecting Thor’s palm. He hazards a glance up to Thor, and is heartened at the amused, easy-going expression on his face. He makes an exaggerated thinking face, and furrows his brow in mock-concentration. His old nursemaid use to read fortunes like this - a childish trick - but Loki thinks he remembers enough to bluff his way through a reading.

 

“A long life line,” Loki begins. “Means a long life, devoid of sickness. Vitality too. Strength and courage.”

 

Thor laughs, “Loki, my sweet, I fear this may be nothing but an exercise in flattery.”

 

“Shhh,” Loki chides gently. “I am not yet finished.” It’s a gamble to speak to Thor so familiarly, but Loki thinks it’s a well-played one. Thor rumbles, a surprised sound; his eyebrows shoot up. But he doesn’t tell Loki to stop, nor does he retract his hand.

 

“The head line is long,” Loki goes on, then hums thoughtfully.“A taste for adventure, enthusiasm for life. Rationality and intellect…….”

 

“You’re making this up as you go!”

 

Loki puts on a mock-offended face. “My lord, this is an ancient Jotunn custom, and not one to be treated so flippantly.” He casts his eyes back downward, inspecting Thor’s hand thoroughly. “Rationality, intelligence, mercy when the time calls for it. The makings of a true King.”

 

Thor shakes his head, chuckling. “You would say such things to me even if you were reading a bird’s innards!”

 

“I speak only the truth of what I see. Ah, but what is this?” Loki curls in closer. “Oh, this is interesting. _Very interesting_ indeed.”

 

“What?” Thor immediately responds, and Loki thrills in his rapt enthusiasm.

“Your heart line, majesty,” Loki trails a fingertip over Thor’s palm. “Most unusual.”

 

“What about it?”

Loki smiles secretly. “The line is long, which indicates a large capacity for love…”

 

“Yes…” Thor prods.

 

Loki frowns, “But it’s curved, you see? The potential is there, but it has not been fulfilled…..”

 

“Not been fulfilled?”

 

“Not _yet_.”

 

Thor chuckles, a sudden arrogant air about him. “My bouncing nursery begs to differ.”

 

“ _True love,_ ” Loki corrects. “You must meet your true love. Then the line will straighten.”

 

Thor scoffs. “Now _you_ are the one telling stories.”

 

“And you are good to humor me.” Loki cradles Thor’s hand in both of his - a tactic that used to work wonders on Odin. Thor laughs easily.

 

“So you’re saying, when I find my true love, the lines on my hand will unfurl.”

 

“That’s what they say.”

 

“Overnight?”

 

“Slowly, I suppose.”

 

“And what if I’ve already met her?” Thor challenges.

 

Loki smiles weakly, not missing the gender of the pronoun he’d used. He shrugs, feigning indifference. “Perhaps you have. It is but a childish pastime, my lord, nothing more.”

 

Thor grunts. “Well, what does your palm say?

 

Loki pauses, frowning. He opens his own palm for Thor’s inspection - the fine, long, elegant fingers so unlike Thor’s own.

 

“Love is not written into my fate,” Loki says softly. He catches the sudden tremor in his voice before it betrays him. “I am destined for a different calling.”

 

“And that is?”

 

“To serve.” Loki curls forward and nuzzles his face into Thor’s open palm. He places slow, gentle kisses to the centre of Thor’s palm, then carefully, to each of Thor’s fingertips in turn, with barely a touch of tongue to fuel Thor’s imagination.

 

“Is this the worthy hand that wields Mjolnir?” Loki murmurs reverently.

 

He can sense Thor’s magic thrumming under his skin - elemental magic, laced with electricity. Unpredictable, _powerful_.  Odin’s magic never felt this. So…...charged. Loki shivers. 

 

Loki’s magic is that of illusions -  of invisibility, decoys, conjuring. Not as powerful as Thor’s, but certainly more precise. As a obsidian blade. In a sudden flight of fancy, Loki sees himself doing battle at Thor’s side. Loki’s magic would complement Thor’s, granting the god-king more control; Thor’s magic would augment Loki’s, granting Loki more power. Thor would summon a lightning bolt, Loki would aim it for best effect. Their foes would fall before them and plead for mercy. Loki’s brand of magic had always been regarded with suspicion - a trickster’s art - but using it in tandem with another being of equal mettle? Would that not give Loki the legitimacy he’d always craved? The _respect?_

 

Loki snaps to the present, blinking. The image had been so clear he could swear it was a vision from the Norns themselves. But Loki was never a scryer. And to reveal his magic to his enemies would only end in his demise. Loki writes these thoughts off as fabrications of a delusional mind; nothing more.

 

“I can see why my father indulged you so,” Thor says. His voice is darker now, and he’s gone strangely still.

 

Loki looks up, fluttering his eyelashes. He presses Thor’s hand to his cheek. “Am I not worth spoiling?”

 

Thor’s lips curl into a smile, a hint of fondness in his eyes. He tilts Loki’s chin up with a gentle finger.

 

“I would tread carefully if I were you, little Loki. For while I find your spirit amusing, there will come a day, I fear, when you try my patience past its limits.”

 

“But today is not that day.” Loki says, and Thor laughs.

 

“Not this day,” Thor echoes. “You can run the water in the imperial bathchamber?”

 

Loki nods, and Thor rises to his feet, Loki’s hand in his.

 

“Come along.”

 

***

 

One thing about Loki is that at least his company is _interesting._

 

Thor can never really predict what the runt will do or say. Loki is amusing, and Thor does relish being amused. He’s pretty to look at, and obedient enough. He’ll make a fine concubine and pleasure slave, once he lets Thor between his legs.

 

It had been odd, however, when he’d cradled Thor’s hand, placing such sweet kisses to his fingertips. The gesture did not even feel sexual, or even seductive. And yet it was oddly intimate in a way Thor simply wasn’t expecting. Loki is casting a spell on him, just as he did to Odin, and Thor is finding himself ill-equipped to handle it.

 

Thor brushes these thoughts off. He’s no simpleton; he knows Loki does these things to earn his favor. As does everyone. Everyone wants something from him. Everyone has an _angle._ Such is his lot in life; Thor knows this. But Thor’s favor does not come freely; he expects some service in exchange for his generosity. Thor will get his due from Loki - no matter how long Loki intends to put it off.

 

Thor ought to remind Loki how very lucky he is, to have a place in the harem and be left _intact_. Traditionally, harem boys are castrated to ensure all children borne there are sired by the king. Loki, as far as Thor can tell, has no outer testicles, and Thor could not bring himself to have Loki’s male sex cut off instead, as Amora had requested. Even to Thor, that seems needlessly cruel. He hadn’t been lying when he said he liked Loki’s dual sexes.

 

If he’s going to be honest with himself, Thor is getting sick of Amora’s theatrics, of having her constantly challenge him in his own household. Perhaps it was not the right time to summon her back from her country estate. In Thor’s opinion, she could have used more time to recuperate from the birth of their second child. Then again, she would have been miffed to miss his coronation, and Thor was in no mood to deal with _that._

 

Thor sighs, stripping himself of his jacket and shirt. Sometimes, he thinks, keeping concubines is more trouble than it’s worth. His father may have had the right idea, choosing to take one queen and one queen alone. Thor laughs to himself, shaking his head. _True love,_ indeed. What a load of nonsense.

 

“Ready?” He calls, but enters the bathing chamber before Loki has the chance to answer. Loki is crouched at the bath’s edge, a finger dipped in the water to test the temperature. He looks up warily at his master and nods.

 

The bathing-pool is sunk deep in the floor, with steps leading down into the water, and underwater benches upon which the bather can sit. Four marble caryatid columns spout water out of the vases they hold. A waterfall at one end ensures that the bathwater is constantly flowing. Thor hadn’t been in here often, and finds himself rather in awe of his surroundings. Thor’s apartments as Crown Prince had been opulent, but even that is nothing compared to the gilt and luxury of the Imperial Suite. Thor feels giddy. All this is _his_ now.

 

Chief amongst his pretty new acquisitions is Loki, whose hair has been dampened with steam and whose face has flushed a rosy pink. Thor grins to himself, wolfish, and strips himself of the rest of his clothing. He observes, with more than a little satisfaction, how Loki averts his gaze to avoid looking at him.

 

“Are you shy, kitten?” Thor says, utterly shameless in his nakedness. Thor descends down into the tub, humming with pleasure.

 

 Loki mumbles a reply that Thor doesn’t quite catch, since Thor is busy dipping his hair under the water to wet it. He shakes out the excess and scrubs a hand down his face.

 

With his eyes still firmly rooted to the ground, Loki rises to his feet and bows slightly, as if he means to take his leave.

 

“I did not dismiss you!” Thor calls. “Come here and attend me.”

 

“....In with you?”

 

“Yes,” Thor says, slightly irritated. “Keep your clothes on, if that matters so much to you. I’m sure the water will do your muscles good, after all that dance practice.”

 

“I do not wish to ruin the fine silk your majesty has given me.”

 

“I’ll buy you new silks. Don’t press me. Come here.”

 

“It’s rather hot.” Loki mumbles.

 

“You’ll get used to it.” Thor grits out. He snaps his fingers. “Come. Here.”

 

At this, Loki obeys, gingerly lowering himself down into the water, displeasure writ plain upon his face. He stays on the opposite end of the bath, looking rather lost and unsure, his shift billowing around him.

 

“There now.” Thor wades over to him. “This isn’t so bad, is it?”

 

Still, Loki doesn’t look at him. Dew clings to his skin. “I suppose not.”

 

Without warning, Thor grabs him underneath his armpits and dips Loki backwards, so that he is utterly submerged for the briefest moment. Loki yelps and kicks and struggles, but it is of little use against Thor’s limitless strength. Thor sets him back on his feet, laughing all the while. The runt has _spunk._

 

Loki sputters, enraged, at the ungentle treatment. He flings his now soaked hair off his face indignantly, and finally looks up at Thor, almost seething.

 

“Come when I call you, Loki. I should not have to ask more than once.”

 

Thor has difficulty saying this without laughing, for Loki looks almost impossibly like an irate wet cat. He meant every word of his chastisement, but it’s hard to stay angry when Loki is glaring at him like that.

 

…..And also, because of the way the water has made his white shift almost translucent…..

 

Loki seems to notice this at about the same time as Thor does, and he immediately covers his chest in a vain attempt at modesty. Thor is rather charmed.

 

“You’re shy,” Thor teases. “I knew it!” He pries Loki’s arms away from his chest, revealing the lean, lithe frame; the rosy nipples peeking through wet fabric.  A dancer’s body.

 

“I’ll see you eventually, Loki. It might as well be now.”

 

Loki huffs, swallowing nervously. When Thor releases his wrists, Loki lets them fall to his side stiffly, not bothering to try to cover himself any longer.

 

“That’s better.” Thor leers. “Now, wash me.”

 

Loki obeys, wetting a cloth in the water and lathering it with sweet-smelling soap. He brings it up to Thor’s chest hesitantly, a look of pure concentration on his face. Even still, he stubbornly refuses to meet Thor’s eyes. Instead, he stares straight ahead, focusing intently on the task at hand. Thor smirks. The runt is utterly precious.

 

“Mmmmm,” Thor rumbles, pleased beyond measure with the fortuitous direction his life is taking. He’ll be crowned king in three days; he will take up residency in the Imperial suite; and he will fuck this runt until he can’t walk straight. Thor can’t decide what he’s looking forward to most.

 

Loki dutifully washes Thor’s chest, arms, and back, never saying a word. Thor watches him as he works, his cock growing in interest at the sight of Loki’s lovely pale skin half-hidden underneath the wet silk. He even lets Loki wash his hair and comb out the tangles.

 

At length, Loki faces him once more. He seems flushed, and his eyes are strangely unfocused. Thor puffs up his chest; this is the usual effect he has on maidens.

 

Loki waits, tense, perhaps hoping to be dismissed. But Thor is not finished with him. Not yet.

 

“I believe you missed something,” Thor says, grabbing Loki’s wrist and guiding it below the water and towards Thor’s impressive erection.

 

Loki lets out a noise of surprise. He tries to curl away, but Thor’s grip is firm and unyielding.

 

“Stroke me,” Thor commands. “Come on, pet. Let’s see if those hands are as nimble as the rest of you.” He grunts as Loki’s delicate fingers wraps around his length. Loki can’t even reach all the way around it!

 

“Oh,” Is all Loki says, and Thor laughs predatorily.

 

“Impressive, isn’t it?” He taunts, closing Loki’s fingers more insistently around it and bending over to rasp into Loki’s ear: “Now imagine it inside you, stretching you open, filling you so completely, in your cunt, your mouth, your ass. You won’t ever be satisfied by another man ever again, not after I’ve had you.”

 

Loki whimpers, unable to pull himself away. “Majesty, please. It’s too hot.”

 

“Come on then, stroke me,” Thor encourages. “That’s it. Be good, slave. Do as your master bids you.”

 

As soon as Thor says this, he comes to a realization: Loki _is_ his slave. Thor owns him completely: body, mind, heart. He can do with him what he likes. Who is he to deny Thor his flesh? Why should Thor be satisfied with spilling into Loki’s fist when there are much sweeter pleasures to be had? Pleasures that are his to claim by right?

 

Thor decides, then and there, that he should not have to wait. Loki should have never asked him to in the first place. Thor is King in all but name and he will not be denied.

 

Thor is almost impossibly hard, and he ruts impatiently against Loki. His lust has frayed his self-control, and not even Loki’s soft protests can dissuade him from his single-minded goal. Thor manhandles Loki up against a caryatid column and presses himself flush against Loki’s body. Loki squirms, pushing weakly against the solid mass of Thor’s chest.

 

“Master,” Loki says, his voice breathless, “Not yet. Not yet. Please. Let me up...”

 

Thor ignores him, choosing instead to tug Loki’s head to the side with a fistful of lush hair, thus exposing Loki’s long, swan-like neck. Thor plants hungry kisses on the porcelain skin there and laps at the moisture, making Loki gasp. He likes this, Thor knows he does. He’s  just toying with Thor. He probably laughs at Thor when he’s alone, congratulating himself for having subdued Thor for so long!

 

“Three more days,” Loki pleads, “And you will be King, and I will willingly lie down for you. Please, I can’t breathe…..”

 

Thor growls in frustration. He punches the column beside Loki’s head, and Loki cowers.

 

“Why do you care so much? Hm? What difference does it make to you whether it’s tonight or tomorrow night or ten nights from now? You’re mine to do with as I please!”

 

“Master, please,” Loki whimpers. “It’s too hot, I can’t...I can’t breathe....”

 

Thor is about to tear his clothing off anyway, lay him on the bath’s edge and sink his cock in that sweet heat, when Loki’s eyes roll into the back of his head and his body goes limp in Thor’s arms.

 

***

 

Thor paces as the Healer listens to Loki’s heart through her stethoscope. It had been alarming, to say the least, to have Loki faint like that, and Thor was surprised at just how intense his response had been. In a panic, Thor scooped Loki’s limp body out of the bath, still dripping, and laid him on the couch in the antechamber, calling for a healer at once. He’d barely gotten a bathrobe on himself and a towel around Loki by the time she’d arrived.

 

“Well?” Thor demands.

 

“I know little of Jotun physiology,: she says calmly, “But I do believe Loki was overheated. His symptoms are like that of heatstroke.”

 

Thor’s neck suddenly feels quite hot. He knows full well that if that is the case, then Loki’s present condition is entirely his own fault.

 

“Will he be alright?” Thor grunts, trying to look as unaffected as possible.

 

Before she has a chance to respond, Loki stirs, blinking against the light. His eyes are glazed and feverish.

 

“Loki,” Thor says, rushing to his side and shooing the healer out of his way.

 

“I want it to - to mean something.” Loki murmurs, his voice laboured.

 

Thor frowns, uncomprehending. “What?”

 

“I want it to mean something.” Loki says, more clearly. “To you.”

 

“Mean what? What are you talking about?” Had his brain been fried as well?

 

“My first time.” Loki sits up weakly. He looks to a nearby servant. “Water, please…..” Loki takes the glass that’s offered to him, sipping from it daintily. His hand trembles.

 

After a moment, this information sinks in. Thor’s mouth opens at the sudden, unexpected realization: Loki is….a virgin?

 

Thor sputters, his mind reeling. “And when, _pray_ , did you plan on telling me this?”

 

“Would you have even believed me if I had?” Loki counters, daring to meet Thor’s eyes for the briefest second, his challenge made plain. “When first we met, you already decided I was your father’s whore. I knew I could do little to convince you. There was no point in trying.”

 

Thor’s cheeks heat, sheepish, knowing full well Loki speaks the truth. He squares his shoulders defensively, “But you _were_ gifted to him for that purpose.”

 

“Yes,” Loki says.

 

“For my father’s,” Thor says distastefully. “ _....comfort.”_

 

“He never bed me,” Loki says, more forcefully now. “Odin-king could not bring himself to do so, for whatever reason; I know not. But I swear it is true, I was untouched when I entered his possession, and remain so now.” 

 

Thor considers this carefully.

 

“I think you try to increase your worth to me.”

 

“Does it?” Loki asks. “Increase my worth?”

 

“Immensely,” Thor says, a dark glint in his eye. He’s been known to have a bit of a penchant for popping virgins. Thor is a somewhat _territorial_ man. “Why else would you confess this to me now?”

 

At this, Loki lets out a mirthless, self-deprecating laugh.

 

“I suppose I wanted…...to share in your glory, in some small way. I know I am a fool for believing I could be special to you. I am a silly, vain creature, and always have been. But surely there is no greater honor for one of my kind than to warm the bed of a king, on the very night he ascends to the throne? And I had thought -” Loki pauses.

 

“What?” Thor prods, more gently now. “Tell me.”

 

Loki laughs again, softly, self-consciously. He shrugs, “I thought that maybe, just maybe, when you look back upon that night, many many years from now, you might remember our time together, and think of me with some fondness….” 

 

Loki seems embarrassed by this confession. He looks away, mumbling, “Your majesty is good to humor me.”

 

Thor frowns, “I felt no barrier inside you.”

 

“I’ve had no man,” Loki says. “Have me examined if that would satisfy you. But please, do not be angry. I did not know how to tell you.”

 

Thor nods, placated. Loki would not be so stupid as to lie about this. Why would he? He must know there are seidr that could give Thor the truth of the matter.

 

“Very well,” Thor concedes, although stops short of apologizing for nearly boiling Loki in the bath. He’ll have to take more care in the future. He forgets, sometimes, that Loki is not born of Asgard. He’s of delicate constitution. Thor should not handle him so roughly.

 

“Are you angry with me?”

 

“No, pet,” Thor gathers Loki in his arms and caresses his wet head. “Hush.”

 

He sends Loki to bed shortly thereafter, accompanied by an attendant to make sure he reached his harem cell safely. Loki needs his rest. _Thor_ need his rest. He’s exhausted, and he’d let his lust get the best of him. Thor has the niggling feeling that he’d gone a bit too far, that he might’ve seriously harmed Loki this time. Thor is not used to this sensation and does his best to ignore it.

 

By tradition, Thor cannot sleep in the Imperial Bedchamber until he’s crowned, so he expends what little energy he has left trudging back to his old suite. He hasn’t even the will to make himself come by his own hand, and he falls asleep within minutes, his hair still damp. He doesn’t dream.

 

***

 

“So..?”

 

“He is not intact, Majesty,” the healer reports. This is as Thor suspected, and comes as no surprise. “But I have found no evidence that he has known a man intimately. There is no lover’s mark upon his anima.”

 

“But he is torn.”

 

“Aye,” she agrees, “But it is possible for a hymen to pop with any vigorous activity, like horseback riding, or even strenuous exercise. Loki is a dancer; I suspect that is how he came to be ruptured.”

 

“Hm. Good.” Thor says, half to himself. Shame there will be no blood, then. Ah well. It’s the principle of the thing, Thor supposes. So long as he’s the first man to spill inside him, that’s all that really matters.

 

“Although…” she says, hesitating. Thor immediately turns his attention back to her. Her face is solemn, and it gives Thor pause.

 

“There’s else something Your Majesty should know….”

 

Thor frowns, and the healer shifts nervously. She clears her throat.

 

“As I was using my seidr to inspect him, I found within him a well of magic. A deep well.”

 

“ _What?”_ Thor whispers, incredulous. “That’s….”

 

_Impossible._

 

 The healer purses her lips. "My king, it appears that Loki is a witch.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> duh duh DUNNNNNN 
> 
> lol


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! have some of.....whatever this is. 
> 
> love to everyone who left kudos and comments xoxo I need to be I better replyer, I know. but i do appreciate each and every one! 
> 
> And love to my eternal darlings in the thorki and hiddlesworth fandoms. You realize you guys are a bad influence, right???
> 
> shace, nora, alma, and gen, you should be ashamed of yourselves.
> 
> apologies for any errors xox

_Loki can’t recall how Helblindi proposed his plan to him in the first place - if he’d eased Loki into it, or if he sprang it on him all at once. Loki had been in a fog; his thoughts clouding over with the mounting horror that Helblindi is being completely serious._

 

_When he finally can bring himself to speak, his voice is little more than a whisper._

 

_“What you’re suggesting is absurd. Impossible. It can’t be done. How could you even -” Loki’s words get caught in his throat.  Loki had learned not to expect much compassion from his elder brother - especially after what happened - but this is truly beyond the pale._

 

_Helblindi sighs. “What else am I to do with you? Marry you to that old codger out on the Wastelands, to eek out a living on the ice sheets? Is that what you want?”_

 

_Loki bristles, even though this is something Helblindi tells him all the time. No one else will have him - no one of any standing, anyway. But Loki is proud, and refuses to let shame overcome him. He clenches his fists in indignation._

 

_“I didn’t spend the last ten years training with the best dance master in Jotunheim just to grind in some old man’s lap like a harlot!”_

 

_The slap he receives isn’t entirely unexpected, but it stings nonetheless. Loki rubs his purpling cheek and glares defiantly up at his brother._

 

_“Training I paid for!” Helblindi roars. “So you’ll do as I say. Prideful wretch!”_

 

_“I won’t go,” Loki says impulsively. “I won’t do it.”_   
  


_“You will.” Helblindi. “It is Laufey’s wish.”_

 

_“You might as well sentence me to death!” Loki screams, his composure fraying. He paces, itching to expend some of his anxious energy. Laufey’s spite runs deep, it seems. “The Aesir hate us, have made war with us for centuries.The Allfather would never fall for such a trick!”_

 

_“Is it any worse than the death you suffer here every day?” Helblindi shouts back, making Loki flinch. Helblindi sighs, approaching Loki with a sudden air of gentleness. “The Allfather is weak and senile. His mind is dulled. He is vulnerable. Our kind may be hated, but a jotunn runtling? One as small and delicate as you? No, you will pose no threat to him. You will be meek and submissive and sweet. You, my beautiful brother,” Helblindi takes Loki’s face in his massive hands. “You will charm his secrets from him.”_

 

_Loki laughs bitterly, hoping that will somehow counteract the wetness that threatens to spill over his eyelashes. “You would have me lie down for our enemy, to sate Laufey’s thirst for revenge.”_

 

_And your thirst for royal favour, Loki doesn’t say._

 

_“Sacrifices must be made,” Helblindi says gravely. “For the good of Jotunheim.”_

 

_“Then I am the sacrificial lamb,” Loki spits, wriggling out of Helblindi’s grasp. He’s not fooled by Helblindi’s false patriotism; not for a moment. The only person Helblindi serves is himself, and Loki hates him for pretending otherwise. “Why should I go through with this, if only you stand to gain?”_

 

_“Why, for our people, of course,” Helblindi says, his eyebrows shooting up. “For our majestic Realm, and for the repatriation of our beloved Casket.”_

 

_“Funny,” Loki says dryly. “Don’t jest with me, brother. Not now.”_

 

_Helblindi grins, wolfish, like he’s laid a perfect trap and Loki’s about to get caught in it. “Because,” He begins, red eyes glinting, “If you succeed, I will restore your dowry to you, the Estate at Herjofsil included.”_

 

_Loki perks up. His dowry….._

 

_“Ah,” Helblindi smirks triumphantly. “I knew that would get your attention.”_

 

_Loki’s mouth goes dry. “I thought….”_

 

_“I have discussed the matter with Laufey. Your right to it has been forfeited, but not entirely lost. There would be cause to restore it to you. Your emancipation would be quite unprecedented, but - “ He shrugs,  “Extraordinary circumstances, after all.”_

 

_Extraordinary circumstances, indeed! To return alive would be nothing less than a miracle. What Helblindi asks is suicide. If he’s discovered to be a Jotunn spy, he will die upon the rack, he knows it. And even if he’s not discovered…..Loki shudders to think what Odin might ask him to do - if he even makes it into the old man’s bed at all, that is. The more he thinks about this, the more absurd it all seems._

 

_But on the other hand -_

 

_“You swear it? That if I go through with this…..you will emancipate me, and transfer my dowry to my name?”_

 

_“Upon my word and honour,” Helblindi agrees._

 

_Loki closes his eyes, exhaling through his nose. He can’t believe he’s seriously considering this!_

 

_“I probably won’t ever make it back.”_

 

_“Yes, this mission is not without risk,” Helblindi says airily. The prospect of losing Loki is clearly not something that causes him heartbreak. Loki doesn’t know what that stings as much as it does, or why he’s even surprised. “Which is why Laufey-King will match your dowry as a reward for your service. And, of course, as compensation for your ruined honor.”_

 

_“Match it?” Loki repeats incredulously. A wave of greed washes over him. Double his dowry….would be more than enough to live out his days in comfort and peace, free of the bonds of Helblindi’s guardianship. Free of his duty to marry the suitor of Helblindi’s choosing. He’d sacrifice his honour a thousand times over for that chance._

 

_“Freedom,” Helblindi says, reading Loki’s mind. “It’s what you’ve always wanted.”_

 

_“Freedom from you.” Loki corrects. Helblindi narrows his red eyes, but doesn’t answer._

 

_They fall silent for a long while as Loki continues to pace._

 

_“It’s perhaps stupid of me to ask,” Loki says, “but how will I even be granted an audience with Odin? You cannot think to simply teleport me into his chambers! And even if you do get me in, will he even want me, as I am?” Loki waves his hands over his blue body in emphasis. “This cannot possibly work! Have you even considered the logistics? Do you even know the Asgardians wouldn’t gut me on sight?”_

 

_Helblindi’s oily smile grows tenfold. “Leave all that to me.”_

 

_****_

 

Thor sends him a pretty new hairclip. It’s in the shape of a dragonfly, with enamel wings and an vibrant sapphire set into the thorax. Loki breaks out into wild, crazed laughter when the page brings it to him, and he immediately sets about arranging his hair to best show it off. He hopes Amora is around to see it. He’ll wear it incessantly until she does.

 

But really, the gift itself is besides the point. While Loki’s never been one to turn down pretty baubles - especially of the _expensive_ variety _-_ Thor’s remorse is the greater prize by far. Ha! He isn’t as invulnerable to Loki’s charms as he’d first made it seem. Loki will bring him to heel. If there’s one thing Loki has come to learn, it’s that stroking a man’s ego is often more effective than stroking his cock. A few honeysweet words of devotion can turn a man into soft, malleable clay. True, Loki may have underestimated the force of Thor’s passion - and the bath water’s temperature - but he figures he’d played it well in the end.

 

The little fainting damsel. Loki could almost roll his eyes at himself. Men are _so easy_.

 

Loki focuses narrow-mindedly on his small victory, and stifles the accompanying memory of Thor’s solid flesh beneath his fingertips, the way his mouth pressed so hotly against Loki’s neck. There are some thoughts that are best not to be dwelt on. It’s good that Thor desires him so; Loki leaves it at that. If Loki wakes up grinding against his pillows come morning, well…...he certainly can’t be blamed for the twisted visions his unconscious brings forth while he sleeps, now can he?

 

The next two days pass without incident; or, with as little incident as can be expected given the circumstances. Thor does not send for him, but Loki suspects that’s because he’s occupied with preparations for the coronation. It’s is a big deal, after all. A celebration like this only comes once every few thousand years, and from what Loki understands, the festivities are scheduled to last for three whole months.

 

Loki, too, is being kept busy. The dance troupe does a full dress rehearsal in the throne room, complete with costume changes, lighting, and orchestral accompaniment. The palace mages have enchanted the ceiling to mimic the Aurora, and Loki spends most of his downtime between sets looking up, awed at the display of their magical prowess. The Aurora complements his dance perfectly, so that when the music picks up near the end, the light goes from a mellow, sombre blue to a triumphant golden yellow. Loki sighs. He could’ve been a powerful sorcerer too, if he had been given the chance.

 

Loki’s solo costume is beautiful - white, trimmed with red and gold, slung over one shoulder - and much more lavish than his chorus costume. It was made specifically for Loki’s frame, and Loki rather likes the way it shows his figure off. The silk billows behind him when he leaps, the gold thread catches the light with every movement. Upon finishing rehearsals, however, he notices that one of the seams has come undone. Loki is sent to the master seamstress for an emergency touch-up fitting, and it is there that the two Einherjar come for him.

 

His seamstress looks up from the hem, startled, and accidentally pricks Loki with a pin. Loki covers his bare chest with his hands and he hisses in indignation at being intruded on in such a brazen manner. They tell him to come with them, even though it must be obvious that he’s rather indisposed.

 

“For what purpose?” Loki asks. They don’t say, but their faces make it clear he is in no position to refuse. Something is amiss. Thor has never sent for him during the day like this, and if he did, he would have used a page. Not two fully armed guards.

 

“Can it wait?” Loki asks, less confident now. He’s barely dressed, his costume half-laced and half-hanging from his hips. He laughs softly with a self-conscious shrug, “I am out of sorts.”

 

They indicate for Loki to hurry up. No, it cannot wait.

 

“Well, I can’t dress with you standing there. Wait in the hall.”

 

“You are to accompany us immediately,” one says. “If you will not change, then you can come as you are.”

 

Loki grimaces; he likes that option much less.

 

He snarls, _fine_. The seamstress does her best to shield him as Loki changes into his normal silks, but even so, Loki’s sure they catch glimpses of his bare flesh. And although he’s technically a pleasure slave, there’s still haughty, aristocratic blood flowing in his veins, and Loki bristles at the thought of being looked at by their common eyes.

 

By the time they reach Thor’s private audience chamber, it’s clear that something is definitely wrong. For one, Thor isn’t smiling. He sits strangely still upon his throne, his stare icy and penetrating, and he says nothing as Loki is set before him. The armour and cape make him look half again his size, more god than man. Loki isn’t used to seeing him like this. Usually, Loki attends him in the evenings, when he’s changed out of his armor and into comfortable casual robes. By that time of night, Thor’s usually had a few glasses of wine, he’s been fed, and is in good spirits ……

 

Frankly, this isn’t the reunion Loki was expecting.

 

Loki kneels all the way to the ground, then back up again, and refuses to let his trepidation show on his face.

 

“Leave us,” Thor says to the guards stationed behind Loki. They bow and exit, their footsteps echoing loudly in the cavernous hall.  Thor waits until the doors slam shut  behind them before he speaks again.

 

“Do you like your hairclip?”

 

“Very much,” Loki replies uneasily, although it’s the truth, he does. He’s glad he’d elected to wear it today. It used to please Odin greatly when Loki wore the gifts he’d been given.

 

Thor hums, but the sound seems cold, even mocking.

 

“I acquired it long ago, while on a diplomatic mission to Vanaheim. Rather costly, but I was taken with the design, and I knew I had to have it. It’s that sapphire in the centre. They are said to be amongst the rarest gemstones in all the Realms.”

 

Loki nods, unsure of where Thor is going with this. “Your majesty is most generous to have given it to me.”

 

 

“ _Indeed,”_ Thor sneers. “Did you know, Loki, that sapphires represent a promise of honesty, loyalty, and trust when worn by a lover?” He laughs darkly, “And _my,_ doesn’t it look fetching on you.”

 

Loki’s neck suddenly feels very, very hot. Maybe he shouldn’t have worn the hairclip after all.

 

Thor’s voice is low and full of quiet menace. “Do you know why I have summoned you thus?”

 

Loki shakes his head quickly. “No, majesty.”

 

Thor smirks, but there is no mirth in it. He leans forward in his chair.

 

“I think you do. I think you know _exactly_ why you’re here.” The false veneer of calm cracks, and underneath it is something dark, primal, and frightening. “You’ve been playing me for a fool.”

 

Loki’s mouth goes dry. “My lord, I don’t -”

 

“And you will play me no longer!” Thor roars. “I will have no more lies. You know perfectly well of what I speak.”

 

In a panic, Loki wonders if the healer had found traces of Ulfr’s touch on his anima - but no. Loki dismisses that thought just as quickly. Loki is still a virgin, because they hadn’t done anything. _They hadn’t done anything_. Not really. Nothing that would leave a lover’s mark on him. He was inspected before he left Jotunheim! He came out clean. Ruptured, but clean -

 

“Your magic,” Thor snarls, interrupting Loki’s line of thought. “ _Witch.”_

 

Oh. The magic.

 

That’s much worse.

 

Loki’s heart rate spikes, like a mad hummingbird trapped in his chest. He _knew_ something was off about that healer! She’d acted so stiffly throughout his examination. She’d probed too deep, and Loki hadn’t been paying attention, distracted as he was with the worry that she’d find some lingering love-stain.

 

Thor’s face is dark, and his voice booms across the audience chamber, rattling Loki’s bones.

 

“It is common knowledge that all magic-wielders in the Realm must be registered. You, little one, are not on record, even though my healer says you’ve an impressive well of magic within you. Do you deny it?”

 

Loki’s head is in a tizzy, he feels faint, and worst of all, powerless.  His first instinct is to deny, but he knows better than to do so. It would only make things worse for himself.

 

“No, my lord.”

 

“Then you knowingly broke the law.”

 

Loki opens his hands imploringly. “Master, please. I can -”

 

“Silence!” Thor barks, cutting Loki short. “You knowingly broke the law, _slave_ ; yes or no.”

 

Loki hates the way Thor calls him that, like he wants to put Loki in his place; to remind Loki that his fate is totally in Thor’s hands. And it is.

 

“Yes,” Loki says, voice barely above a whisper.

 

“Then you kept this secret from my father for all this time. Even while you lay in his arms and slept by his side.” He gets up and stalks towards Loki. “You’re a little snake, that’s what you are. And my father was a fool for ever letting you into his bed. That senile, lovestruck old cretin. You must have truly bewitched him, for him to have made such a grievous oversight.”

 

“I meant no harm by it, Majesty, I swear- ”

 

Loki flinches when Thor draws closer, convinced his master will strike him. He curls in on himself, eyes squeezed shut, and waits, the blood rushing in his ears.

 

But the blow doesn’t come.  When he opens his eyes, Thor’s finger is pointed in his face; his blue eyes narrowed into furious slits.

 

Thor speaks slowly. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t bind you.”

 

Loki swallows dryly; his tongue feels thick in his mouth. The truth is, Loki doesn’t really have a good reason. Thor _ought_ to bind him for this, at the very least. It’s what Loki would do in his place. A magicked foreign slave, so intimately associated with the King of Asgard? There is potential for a great…..calamity. Thor is right to call him a snake.

 

 But it’s not in Loki to give in without a fight.

 

 “If it means anything, my lord, I….” Loki can hardly form the words, “......I used my gifts to give your father comfort in his old age. I put him to sleep, soothed his cough, eased the pain from the arthritis in his fingers. I wanted to help him, I _cared_ for him. He saved me from - from Norns know what kind of fate. I owe him my life.” Loki knows he is rambling, truly panicked that Thor will follow through on his threat. His magic is his safety line; the only security he has left in this enemy kingdom. The thought of losing it is terrifying. “I never did anything to harm him. I couldn’t possibly.”

 

“Healing spells,” Thor says.

 

Loki should just nod and say nothing more. Healing magic is the most benign of all magickal arts. Surely Thor would not object to owning a slave who works healing magic? Loki’s hands can warm and soothe and comfort. He could give Thor such pleasure without even touching his cock!

 

But…..if Loki volunteers some information, perhaps Thor will be more inclined to believe him.

 

“Some illusion magic, too. Children’s spells. Parlour tricks.” Loki smiles nervously, a pathetic supplicating gesture. “Harmless.”

 

Thor tilts his head back, looking Loki up and down, mulling over this information.

 

“If you loved my father - as you say - you would have told him the truth.”

 

“Your Majesty is right,” Loki says. “I have no excuse other than that I was afraid.”

 

" _Afraid,_ ” Thor sneers. “You had him wrapped around your finger.”

 

Loki summons what is left of his courage. He thinks Thor had felt some compassion for him that day when he’d fainted - had the king not seen to his recovery himself? Laid him on his couch and summoned a healer to his side? Loki knows they had gotten off on the wrong foot when they’d first met, but surely there is some mercy in his heart for as pitiable a creature as Loki!

 

“I have been a slave for as long as I can remember,” Loki begins. “My fate was sealed when my hair did not shed, and I was discovered to be a runtling. I have lived in uncertainty and fear all my life, ripped from my home and smuggled to a foreign land not known for its hospitality to my kind. They told me I was destined to warm the bed of the King of Asgard and I…. I was afraid. I was young. I have since resigned myself to a life of servitude - indeed, it would be the greatest honour of my life to serve you as I have served your father - but please believe me when I say I have not kept this secret out of ill-will; only a misplaced sense of self-preservation. My gifts are meagre, but I would gladly make use of them in whatever capacity Your Majesty so chooses…..”

 

Loki adds a hint of suggestion in his voice, to perhaps pique Thor’s interest. He thinks he succeeds, by the way Thor is suddenly given pause.

 

“I don’t like it,” Thor says at length. “It makes me think I can’t trust you. It makes me think you’re keeping secrets from me.” His eyes narrow to slits. “What else have you been hiding, Loki?”

 

In a fit of madness, Loki considers telling him the truth. The whole truth. About Ulfr, about Helblindi, Laufey, everything. About his lost inheritance. About the promise of freedom should he make it back to Jotunheim alive. What would Thor do?

 

What if Loki fell to his knees and begged Thor’s mercy. What if he forfeited allegiance to Jotunheim, turned his back on his homeland forever, and swore fealty to Asgard instead. What if he cried until his eyes were swollen shut, so that Thor would never doubt the depth of his remorse. Loki could call forth such tears! Loki had but to let fall a single crystal tear and Odin would rush to kiss his cheek and promise him anything to make him smile again.

 

Would it be so bad, Loki thinks, to stay here and be Thor’s slave and concubine? He could live well like this, once he has tamed the king’s base passions. He wouldn’t have to work another day in his life. He could live his days in leisure, with slaves of his own, even. Maybe pop out a few brats to secure his position. A gilded cage, to be sure, but Loki has never been destined for freedom. And Thor - well. Loki could certainly do worse for a bedmate than the Golden King of Asgard.

 

If Loki were going to say anything, now would be his chance. After this, there would be no going back.

 

“Nothing else,” Loki says, hating how small his voice sounds. “Majesty.”

 

Thor crosses his arms in front of his massive chest, and for a horrible moment he thinks Thor sees through the lie.

 

Thor says, “Show me.”

 

Loki blinks. “Sh…..show you?”

 

“Aye.” Thor says a hint of irritation in his voice. “I want to see what you can do, slave. Show me your magic.”

 

Loki startles at the command. It certainly wasn’t what Loki was expecting, and he finds himself rather at a loss. He mentally cycles through his spells for the one that would best suit his cause. So many come across as rather…..shady.

 

Loki takes a deep breaths. His fingers tremble, and he’s sure it would take a few tries to make this cast correctly. He hadn’t done it in years. Ages. Not since he left Jotunheim.

 

Thor’s stare is unsettling, but Loki manages to collect himself enough to focus on the spell. First comes the white smoke, hovering in a cloud at his feet. Loki concentrates harder, palms open to the floor, until the smoke takes shape and the familiar figure of his totem materializes. The rabbit makes a few small cautious hops towards Loki to sniff at his ankles in greeting. Its fur is opalescent, luminous, and almost translucently white. As a youngling, he used to summon it to bring himself comfort when he felt afraid and lonely at night. Even now, its presence is soothing; it must sense Loki’s distress, and its first instinct is to comfort. Loki used to resent that his totem was not something more…. _intimidating_ , like Helblindi’s direwolf, but he’s since come to appreciate his rabbit’s less obvious strengths. It might be small, but it is also swift, agile, and most importantly, _cunning._

 

Loki lifts his wrists and the rabbit goes sprinting, its rear dissolving into a trail of light like the tail of a comet. It darts to and fro in a sharp zig zag, across the audience chamber and back again. Loki has it do a few laps around the throne room, nipping behind him and Thor, before he finally brings it back to settle at his feet. It sits on its rear imploringly, looking up at Loki with jet black eyes, its front paws tucked against its belly.

 

Loki smiles softly. His totem has missed him. Loki has missed it too.

 

Loki crouches down and scoops his rabbit up. Its fur is as soft and warm as Loki remembers. Loki cradles his rabbit against his chest, curling his body around it and making soft cooing noises. The rabbit nuzzles into its patron affectionately, seeking to calm Loki’s nerves, but Loki can tell it’s ill at ease too. It doesn’t like Thor. Or, at least, it’s wary of Thor.

 

Thor reaches forwards cautiously, meaning to pet the rabbit’s fur. The rabbit freezes, so still that even its tiny nose ceases wriggling. Loki wills it to be calm and makes a shushing noise. When Thor finally trails his hand over the rabbit’s fur, Loki swears he feels it too, like a shiver reverberating down his spine. It’s a strange sensation, given that Loki hadn’t expected to feel anything at all. He’d never let anyone touch it before. He dissolves his totem into white smoke before Thor can do it again.

 

 It feels odd to have exposed such an intimate side of himself to Thor, but Loki never does anything without careful consideration. He needs for Thor to not see him as a threat. And this? What could be more unthreatening than _this?_

 

“Harmless.” Loki says again, voice barely above a whisper.

 

Thor is silent for a long while; his expression strangely blank and unreadable.

 

“This deceit cannot go unpunished,’ Thor says, then lets out a long sigh and closes his eyes for much longer than a blink. When he speaks again, his voice is softer than it was before. “If you are to lie in my bed, Loki, I must be able to trust you.”

 

Loki nods eagerly. Thor seems hesitant now - even unwilling. He doesn’t want to punish him, Loki realizes. _He doesn’t want to punish him._ He wants Loki underneath him, not under the ground. And Loki will do whatever he can to encourage that sentiment.

 

 “I will gladly endure whatever punishment Your Majesty sees fit to issue.”

 

If Loki makes it through this alive, by the Norns, he will never ask for anything else again.

 

“You beguile me even now,” Thor mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Maybe I _have_ been bewitched by you.”

 

“There are no such thing as love spells,” Loki echoes. He adds, perhaps against his better judgement, “But if there were, I would have certainly put one on you.”

 

Loki smiles weakly at his limp joke, but Thor, in disbelief, actually half-laughs, and shakes his head.

 

“What am I to do with you,” he says in exasperation, more to himself than anything else.

 

Loki has a few suggestions, but the question seems like a rhetorical one, and he holds his tongue. Silently he prays he’s done enough to soften the King’s wrath.

 

The door creaks open, and Thor’s attention is diverted to somewhere beyond Loki’s shoulder.

 

“What?” Thor barks, the harsh tone back in his voice.

 

“Apologies, my prince,” Loki hears the meek voice of Thor’s head steward, “But you are needed before council on the matter of - “

 

Thor waves him away as one would a pesky fly, a sour look on his face. “I know, I know. I will be but a moment.”

 

He looks back down at Loki, his lips pursed like he knows he’s pressed for time.

 

“Loki,” Thor says, his voice echoing off the gilded walls, “For your deception, and for the crime of concealing your magic from official records, I sentence you to one night in the Imperial dungeon, so that you will know what terrible fate lies in store for those who betray the King of Asgard.”

 

Loki lets out the biggest exhale of his life. Relief floods over him, and he sinks to his knees.

 

“Thank you, Majesty,” Loki babbles, bowing down until his forehead presses against the cool marble floor at Thor’s feet. “Thank you. Thank you. I am unworthy of your kindness.”

 

“One night,” Thor repeats. His hand is in Loki’s hair, smoothing down the wayward strands and thumbing thoughtfully at the hairclip. “And I will have you retrieved so you may attend my coronation, and dance as I have bid you. There would be no greater waste than to have your beauty rot away in some dank prison cell. One such as you is meant to be _seen._ ”

 

Loki hazards a glace up then,  and is relieved to find that the anger has dissolved from Thor’s face. In its place, a heavy, rather uncharacteristic weariness. “Do not give me cause to do this to you again, for next time I will not show you mercy.”

 

“I won’t,” Loki breathes, although he’s not sure how he can make such a promise. He kisses Thor’s hand. “I won’t, I swear it.”

 

Loki feels wetness at his eyelashes. He’s so relieved he could cry. Perhaps he will, later, when he’s not pinned under Thor’s scrutiny.

 

“Until tomorrow,” Thor says, straightening. He cups Loki’s cheek briefly, then the soft glimmer in his eyes dims. WIth a flourish of his red cape, he storms out of the audience chamber.

 

Thor booms, “Take the prisoner Underground.”

 

 

***

 

Loki lets out several shaky breaths. The elevator creaks and groans as it carries him deep, deep Underground, into the bowels of the mountain upon which Asgard is built. The metal-on-metal sound makes Loki’s teeth and gums ache.  Loki envisions the chain snapping, sending him plummeting to his death. His knees wobble at the thought. How deep does the shaft go?

 

_Just one night. One night._

 

This punishment is _nothing._ Loki ought to be relieved. He’d seen his uncle execute slaves for much less - left to die in an oubliette for spilling a drop of Laufey’s favourite wine, even. And Loki just got away with _treason!_ He should laugh at Thor’s foolishness. Thor, King of Asgard, swayed by something as trite as Loki’s wobbling lip. 

 

But instead, Loki is a wreck. The air is stale and musty down here, unventilated, and tainted with a sour, metallic smell. He _can_ breathe. He can. It’s just one night.

 

At last, the elevator grinds to a halt with a mighty clatter. Loki stumbles on his feet, but the two guards behind him keep him steady. The grate is opened before them and Loki is ushered into the central hall of the Underground.  It’s much more open than Loki had expected, which is something of a blessing, but the smell has gotten considerably more intense. The halls look hewn from solid rock, more like the inside of an anthill than a proper dungeon. Strange, blueish mushrooms cast deathly bioluminescent light over the naked passageways, which extend outwards in every direction from the central hall. This place feels ancient, like the roots of Yggdrasil itself. Its walls seem to _throb_ , pressing down on Loki’s magic. Something about this place inhibits spellcraft - maybe it’s the walls, maybe the smell. Whatever it is, it’s making Loki’s jaw clench.

 

_Just one night._

 

Loki’s is ushered towards a small alcove with a desk and a few chests. There is a gaunt, pale man seated behind it, taking notes with a quill.

 

“This the new one?” he says, not looking up. His posture is ramrod straight, and his voice is gravel, like he does not use it often.

 

“Aye,” A guard affirms, pushing Loki forwards. The other hands the warden the official papers bearing Thor’s seal. The warden pops the decree and scans it.

 

“Magic charges,” he says at length.  “Treason against your King and Master. Sentenced to….” his brow shoots up, “A single night Underground.” He glances up, skimming his milky eyes over Loki’s shivering frame; a bland, almost distasteful look upon his face. It’s clearly obvious to him why Loki got off so leniently. Even now, Loki bristles at being thought of as a whore.

 

“To be released at sunrise tomorrow morning,” the warden continues. “No doubt in time for His Imperial Highness’ coronation.”

 

Loki shuffles on his feet, curling in on himself. There’s a damp chill that even his Jotunn blood cannot protect against.  The walls are definitely _thrumming,_ a sound so low Loki can’t hear it, but it rattles his bones nonetheless. Everything is pressing downwards, and the air is thick.  Someone, somewhere is wheezing, like they can’t inhale the thick air properly.

 

“Do you understand the nature of the charges laid against you?” the warden asks flatly.

 

“Yes,” Loki says.

 

“Treason.” The warden dips his pen in the inkwell and scribbles something Loki can’t make out. “Give him cell number fifty two.” He motions to the chest against the wall with his quill. “Bedding is in there.”

 

Loki pauses a beat, then realizes the warden meant for Loki to fetch the bedding himself. He crouches down and opens the chest, pulling out a set of scratchy folded blankets and a single pillow. Even now, he can’t disregard his high-born sensibilities, and he wrinkles his nose at the thought of who had used them before. Fleetingly, he had hoped Thor would have provided some small creature comforts for his stay….but then again, he supposes this too is part of his punishment.

 

_Just one night._

 

He could do that.

 

The warden waves him off, and Loki is led down one of the tunnels to his room for the night. The cells here too are carved from solid rock, with rows of bars to separate the cells from the passageways. Loki makes the mistake of looking into one of the cells, into the beady, vacant eyes of some wretched prisoner, so haggard he is little more than an animated corpse.

 

Loki lowers his gaze to the ground before him.  He thinks someone makes a kissy noise, and he clutches his bedding closer to his chest. This Hel is a place for traitors. And because Loki’s master is the King of Asgard, any slight against Thor’s person could be construed as treason. If Loki had known that before he left Jotunheim, he wouldn’t have agreed to this mission in the first place. He wonders bleakly if Helblindi knew it and sent him anyway.

 

“Number fifty-two,” his escort says, and unlocks the gate of the cell at the very end of the cellblock. Loki is pushed gently forwards, and he closes his eyes until the gate locks behind him. The foreboding _clank_ of his cell door makes everything seem so _final._ If indeed it was Thor’s intention to make Loki envision a lifetime down here in this dank pit, he’s certainly succeeded.

 

Loki sits himself on his barren little cot and curls in on himself, wrapping his arms around his bended knees. Alone now, he lets himself succumb to the terror that’s been plaguing him ever since the guards first came for him. His eyes mist, and Loki lets out a shaky sob. This place is cursed, unnatural. It’s stupid to let himself get so _emotional,_ given his paltry sentence,but Loki can’t shake the thought there may come a day when Thor finally discovers the true extent of his treachery. And on that day, Thor will not be merciful enough to grant him death, even if Loki begged for it. This is the grim fate that awaits traitors against the Crown. Loki would sooner fling himself off Asgard’s highest tower than live out a life sentence like this. Idly, Loki muses that he should’ve told the truth when he had the chance.

 

Loki mops his face with his woolen sleeve, even though it makes his face itch. He longs for the comfort of his harem cell, and he kicks himself for ever disparaging it. There at least, he could open a window and let the cool breeze lull him to sleep. Or better yet, Loki thinks of his childhood bed back in Jotunheim, outfitted with plush comfortable furs. He used to drink warm cider and read books into the night, even when he was explicitly told not to. Loki could never pace himself with it came to books.

 

But mostly, Loki thinks of Odin’s bed, and the way Odin used to smile and open his arms to welcome Loki into his embrace. Loki had felt so safe, so cared for then. He wishes he hadn’t so often rolled his eyes when Odin wasn’t looking. He was a good man. Delusional, perhaps, but a good man. And nobody misses him - not when they have such a handsome, vigorous new king to take his place. Even his own son was eager to get him out of the way. Loki is probably the only one who thinks of him at all anymore.

 

Loki clutches his blankets more tightly around his shoulders. He’s grateful the cell opposite his is empty, at least. There is no one here to witness his tears.

 

_Get a hold of yourself. Calm down._

 

Loki takes a few more deep, cleansing inhales through his mouth until his breath stops hitching. He can do this. He has to; there is no other way but forward. He has planted a seed of affection in Thor’s heart, and now all he has to do is nurture it to blossom. When he finally lies down for Thor, he will make it so good for him, Thor won’t ever think of summoning anyone else to his bed. The first step, Loki thinks, will be getting Thor to kiss him. How could Thor think of him as anything other than a pleasure slave if he won’t even deign to kiss him?

 

Look Thor in the eyes. Yes, that’s another thing. Slaves don’t look their masters in the eyes.

 

Loki must get through the coronation and execute his dance to perfection. Loki is confident with his solo - he’d certainly practiced it enough -  but the thought of performing it makes his stomach knot. His entire plan hinges on it going well.. If Loki pulls this off, he will never ever be forgotten -

 

Loki sits up suddenly and blinks away the residual tears as he’s struck with what might possibly be the most ridiculous idea he’s ever had.

 

Loki shakes his head at himself and laughs crazily. No. It’s much too risky. Given everything he’s just been through?! What he currently endures? It’s madness! He’s a fool for even considering it.

 

He huffs, laying himself back down. He tries to turn his thoughts elsewhere, but the idea has taken root, and will not let itself be cast aside so easily. Loki chews his lip as he lets it persuade him. Thor _did_ say he wanted Loki to give them something they’ve never seen before, did he not?

 

Loki’s heart hammers in his chest with excitement. He can’t say he’s completely sold on it yet, but the thought alone is certainly tantalizing. The look on Thor’s face would be…...

 

Loki grins madly. He’ll decide in the morning, once this night has been had. He doubts he’ll sleep, but he closes his eyes anyway and wills himself to settle down. Tomorrow is Thor’s coronation, and if all goes well, by nightfall, Loki will have reclaimed his rightful place upon the satin sheets of the Imperial suite - his rightful place at Thor’s side.

 

Until then, all he can do is wait.

 

***

 

They come for Loki an indiscernible amount of time later; it must have only been hours, but it feels like much, much longer, like time itself has been muffled under the rock. Loki is bleary-eyed, his neck aches, and he’s in dire need of a bath. Nonetheless, he’d on his feet the moment the guards come for him. He doesn’t think he could stand another moment down there, and his eagerness to be released borders on the hysterical. In a moment of despair, Loki thought Thor had changed his mind and prolonged his sentence out of spite. But Loki oughtn’t have worried; he is released at sunrise just as Thor had decreed. Despite all his many faults, the King of Asgard is a man of his word.

 

The ride up feels like an ascension into Valhalla. Loki feels like he can _breathe,_ at last, after having been suffocated under the earth.  As they reach closer and closer to the surface, the horrid _thrumming_ fades, and Loki senses his magic being incrementally restored to him. It takes Loki several minutes for his eyes to adjust to the brightness of the rising sun. Then, Loki laughs.

 

Even though most of the guests still sleep, the palace is already abuzz with excitement. Servants scramble to make last minute preparations, and Loki suspects they’ve been kept busy all night. Bouquets of flowers and red banners proclaim the glory of the new King and hail the dawning of a triumphant new era. All this fuss for one man. It all feels very surreal, and it’s something of a shock to the system, given how Loki had spent the night. And soon, Loki will be at the centre of it all.

 

Loki is brought back up to the harem, where maidservants await to prepare him for the festivities. They bathe him (in _cold water,_ mind), rub sweet oils in his skin and hair, dress him in fine silks. His hair is plaited according to the dance mistress’ exacting specifications, and kohl is applied around his eyes.

 

Although he hadn’t touched the slop he’d been fed in the Underground, Loki can’t seem to bring himself to eat. His nerves are utterly frayed, and he still hasn’t made up his mind about his big idea.

 

“Sorry,” He murmurs to the girl applying henna to his forearm. He’s shaking, and he’d smudged her design.

 

He forces down a bit of bread, cheese and stew. Norns, he’s more nervous about this than when he was first sent to dance for Odin in the first place. And not simply because this will be the largest audience he’s ever performed for: Loki has the sinking feeling that the Jotunn ambassador in attendance will be Helblindi himself. Who else could it be? Loki’s presence here in Asgard is highly classified, so this Ambassador would have to be someone who is already privy to Loki’s placement. There aren’t many Jotunn in that small pool. And besides, getting himself named Ambassador is just the kind of stunt his dear brother would pull.

 

Never mind. It’s of no import who is watching. There’s only one star in the sky tonight. No one and nothing else matters.

 

At length, Loki is changed into his first costume - the one for their opening number - and is brought down to the antechamber where the performers are assembling. It’s twistedly comforting to see that his fellow chorus girls fare no better than he. They twitter backstage and mime out the dance movements, shaking out their sweaty palms. One girl throws up onto a potted plant. Their dance mistress paces nearby, hissing at everyone to keep _quiet,_ and thwacking those who do not comply _._ Her hair has been pulled back in a bun so tight her wrinkles look like they’ve been smoothed out.

 

Everything is running a bit late, Loki learns through the grapevine. Thor’s official coronation ceremony took a little longer than planned, and the coordinators scramble to adjust the schedule and herd everyone to their places. Loki can tell Thor’s been anointed from the sudden roar of the crowd and deafening tolling of bells outside the palace. The very foundations of Asgard seem to shake. Even backstage, everyone breaks out into uproarious cheers:

 

_Long live the King! Long live the King!_

 

Amidst all the chaos, Loki is still. He lets out an exhale, and thinks briefly of Odin.

 

He’s not sure how long he waits after that. Maybe an hour or two, maybe more, as the guests file from the great Temple to the Imperial throne room. The din grows louder outside the antechamber, until finally, the trumpets blast, heralding the new King’s arrival.

 

Funnily enough, Loki remembers little of their opening dance. Everything is a blur of faces - _so, so many faces,_ more than Loki could have ever imagined- of blazing gold and streaks of red, and of the hundred dancing doppelgangers surrounding him. He knows Thor must be up on the dais, seated on his Imperial throne, _watching,_ but Loki’s otherwise too preoccupied to pick him out.  He’s not even onstage long: because Loki needs time to quick-change into his solo outfit, he is only set to dance in the first half of the chorus’ performance. Before he knows it, he’s offstage again, blinking wildly and disoriented, and in desperate need of a drink of water. But there’s hardly any time to even catch his breath. A coordinator grabs him and tugs him to where two attendants wait with his second costume.

 

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Loki pants, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the back of his non-hennaed wrist. Even _seeing_ his solo outfit makes his stomach a-flutter. One attendant unlaces the back of his chorus costume, while the other prepares to throw the solo outfit over his head. He has less than seven minutes before his music is set to start, and although he’s half naked amongst throngs of other people, right now, he can’t be bothered with modesty. There are a lot of laces up the back, and if he’s not properly secured, there is a chance that something could….. _malfunction._

 

“Quickly, quickly,” he hisses, even though he does not intend to be sharp to his attendants. He’s antsy, even _exhilarated,_ and he wants to get on with it as soon as possible. His first attendant moves to undo all his intricate plaits, but Loki grows frustrated with her gentleness. He needs the braids out, _now._

 

“Just rip it out, rip it out, quickly.” Loki says frantically, finicking with his hair ties. He doesn’t care how hard she has to pull to get the ties free. He can already hear the music for the dance just before his; it’s time for him to get into position. “Is it coming?” 

 

“Almost……almost…...yes,” The girl behind him says in a breathless huff. “Yes, you’re done, _go.”_

 

Loki shakes out his hair, trailing his fingers through it to fluff it up, then flips his head upside down. When he rights himself, he sees the dance mistress beetling towards him. Up close, her face does look rather taut, and Loki’s own scalp aches in sympathy.

 

“Come along, child, _hurry._ ”

 

She parts the throngs of people like a shark among a school of fish, Loki in tow. She sets him in place, quickly scanning to make sure the other four are there. He wonders if she’ll impart some last-minute wisdom to him before his big moment, but instead, she merely nods and scuttles off to hunt down whoever’s on next. Loki takes a deep breath and adjusts the bangles on his wrist. He’d managed to make it with less than a minute to spare _._

 

Well, this is it. He thought he’d have decided by now whether he’d follow through on his big idea, but he finds he isn’t as troubled by his indecision as he should be. He supposes he’ll simply have to wait and see what happens when the time comes.

 

Loki calms then, as though all the noise has been muted, and all the mayhem has fallen away. He feels _hyperfocused,_ like his wits and his reflexes have been sharpened on a whetstone. Loki knows, deep in his bones, that he can do this. He was _meant_ to do this. This moment is his as much as it is Thor’s. If it is indeed his fate to die upon the rack as a traitor, let it also be remembered that Loki was once the most beautiful, most graceful, most _desired_ creature in all of Asgard.

 

“Are you ready?” a dancer whispers to him, adjusting her feather-fans. Loki startles out of his reverie and looks at her.

 

“Ready,” he hears himself say, and it isn’t a lie. He was _born_ for this moment.

 

***

 

Upon the Imperial Throne of Asgard, Thor sits, perking up in interest as four elegant dancers with feather-fans prance onto the stage. The music changes, becoming softer, sweeter.  In a tight cluster formation, the dancers flutter their fans, swan-like, and peek their lovely faces out. Here and there, they break away to perform some flourish, but they return always to their central cluster, forming a barrier with their fans. The music pauses dramatically, and the four fall away, revealing a hidden fifth dancer, who strikes a pose at the centre of the floor.

 

Of course, it has to be Loki.

 

The Aurora tints blue and Loki begins, softly at first, hardly moving, and yet so commanding of his audience’s attention that the entire throne room goes still. So beautiful, so effortless. Loki leaps and spins, tumbles and turns, light-footed, sprightly and full of energy. _Joyful._ It’s a dance perfectly suited to the coronation of a new king.

 

And at the same time, however, there’s an air of sensuality and exoticism that has Thor leaning forward in his chair and gripping his armrests. Loki’s hair is completely loose - unheard of in traditional Asgardian dance. He whips it over his shoulders as he flings himself to the floor, then again, as he launches himself of the ground and onto his feet. Thor has never seen anything like it. It makes him dizzy to watch.

 

At one point, Loki stills - a dramatic pause - tossing his hair aside to reveal a coquettish smile. Thor swears he’s looking _right at him,_ that ballsy little thing, and the effect is….striking, to say the least. But the moment quickly passes, and Loki is off again, running in the opposite direction. The music builds to a crescendo, and the Aurora goes from blue to an orangy-yellow. Loki enters into a spin, whipping his hair with every turn. He finishes with a high kick and flips over his front, pausing a beat to swivel his hips, just to toy with his ensnared crowd. He sprints, then completes an impressive tumbling pass. The audience gasps when Loki lands it perfectly.

 

Faster and faster, he goes - a blur of black hair and white silk. From the way the music is building, Thor can tell Loki’s dance is coming to an end, and all Thor can do is keep his eyes fixed on the spectacle before him. Loki does loves to finish with a bang, and Thor is so enthralled that he refuses to even blink lest he miss a single moment of it.

 

This alluring little creature is all _his._

 

Thor needn’t have worried. Loki’s grand finale, as it so happens, is quite impossible to miss. At the final boom of the music, Loki crashes to the ground, and disappears before Thor’s very eyes in an brilliant explosion of light and fireworks.

 

Loki is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> but when will she get to the sex???? - everyone


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok here's the chapter you were all probably waiting for. I hadn't intended for this story to get so.....elaborate. you people are all terrible for encouraging me and you ought to be ashamed.
> 
> I've had some people ask me what Loki's dance style is like. If I had to describe it, I'd probably call it a cross between contemporary/modern dance and [crazy iraqi hair dancing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X2-7i8B50t8&list=LLeRI2VafZmAVvekBvMjV8Qw&index=1). I would LOVE loki to pull that shit out, my god. You just know Thor would be like *_*
> 
>  
> 
> [Theme song for this chapter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jdhu1sJIl-o)
> 
>  
> 
> Special thanks to Maryandmathew for the translation!! that is the coolest thing ever!!!
> 
> I've been staring at this for the last 12 hours, my eyeballs are bleeding, so fuck it. Any mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Hope you like! xox

 

_Pastime with good company_

_I love, and shall until I die._

_Grutch who lust, but none deny_

_So God be pleased, thus live will I!_

_For my pastence,_

_Hunt, Sing and Dance,_

_My heart is set;_

_All Goodly Sport,_

_For my Comfort,_

_Who shall me let?_

 

***

 

 

The audience gasps, awed - a single collective intake of breath, as though the throne room itself had taken a massive inhale. Thor, too, all but bolts upright in his throne, startled and blinking away the spots in front of his eyes. The smoke clears, and he hadn’t been mistaken - Loki has indeed disappeared before his very eyes.

 

After a shocked silence comes uproarious applause and cheers. The crowd goes mad for Loki, the wall of sound almost as deafening as when Thor had made his grand entrance earlier that evening. Thor sits back, trying to look as kingly and unaffected as possible, although inside, he seethes.

 

 _“Where is he? Where is he_?” Thor hisses surreptitiously to his nearby steward, face set in a snarl. “ _Where did he go?”_

 

Heurig stammers, looking around frantically for some answer to appease his lord. Everyone’s face is as stupefied as his own. “Majesty, I -”

 

Thor growls in frustration - this is his _coronation,_ damn it, shouldn’t everything be perfectly in order? Hasn’t everything been planned to the minutest detail? And here they all are, scrambling about like chickens with their heads lopped off! The conductor at the head of the orchestra struggles to get his musicians’ attention. He flails his baton emphatically, indicating for them to proceed with the next piece of music. Meanwhile, off in the distance, Thor picks out the head planner, who appears to be yelling at some poor attendant. The next batch of dancers are herded onstage, their painted faces barely masking their shock and unease. It seems like Loki had put a quite the wrench in the festivities.

 

“ _Find him,”_ Thor demands. “You find him right now, or by the Gods- “

 

Their exchange is interrupted by a meek tug to Heurig’s sleeve. He receives some message, his face turning slack with relief. He turns back to Thor.

 

“He’s here, Majesty. He’s backstage. He’s been apprehended.”

 

At that, Thor calms, relaxing into his throne, the tension seeping from his shoulders. Loki hadn’t disappeared into the ether. He’s here. He’s still here.

 

His temper thus mollified, Thor allows himself to see some amusement in the situation…..

 

_Parlour tricks, indeed!_

 

Before he even knows it, Thor is laughing: a deep, insuppressible husky sound bubbling up from inside his chest. Thor laughs until his face hurts and his side cramps. He thinks Heurig looks at him oddly, and that only makes him laugh harder. He must look like a mad fool. But he can’t help himself. Of all the spectacles he’d seen this night, the many marvelous sights and sounds, that had certainly been the most _entertaining._

 

“ _Bravo_ ,” He murmurs under his breath, clapping slowly in delight. “Oh, Bravo.”

  
***

 

The feasting begins shortly thereafter - a great banquet, with hundreds of delicacies imported from all the ends of the Realms. More music, more dancing, countless toasts to Thor’s name.  His people have been as eager for him to assume power as Thor himself. It’s not as though Thor is untested; Thor has been acting as active regent for the ten years, and has already proved himself to be more than capable as a warrior and politician. Odin had gone into such deep mourning after the death of his wife that he all but became a recluse, and Thor has been the public face of the monarchy ever since. The people are fickle in their love. Even if Odin wakes again, he will never be the beloved figure he once was.

 

Thor laughs again and adjusts the crown of cherry blossoms in his hair, taking another drink as his friends at the head table raise their glasses to him. There will be dancing and feasting until the stroke of midnight, at which time a fireworks display is scheduled to take place above the palace (a _planned_ fireworks display, that is). And after that, after the masses of guests have retired to their chambers, Thor will retreat with his closest friends to the _afterparty,_ where Loki will be waiting for him.

 

He knows he did the right thing by sending the runt Underground, but even so, the whole affair had left him feeling rather ill at ease. Loki’s sentence should have been much more severe; it’s not in Thor to be so soft. Thor had grounds to flog him, or even execute him. At the very least, he should have had him bound. But Thor is a selfish man, and he found himself unwilling to pull Loki’s big number from the ceremony. Yes. That would have thrown the entire schedule off! And besides, Thor figures the fault lies more with his father than with Loki. How could Odin have been so reckless, letting some strange, unscreened slave into his private quarters? Loki could have turned out to be…..dangerous. In punishing him, Thor hoped, for Loki’s sake, that he would learn his lesson.

 

Thor shakes his head, half-laughing at the _audacity_ of his little slave. Using his magic so openly? _So brazenly?_ When not twenty-four hours before, Thor had sentenced him to a night Underground.

 

If he was looking for Thor’s attention, he’s certainly got it.

 

***

 

It’s almost one-thirty in the morning when Thor staggers up to the afterparty, still thrumming with glee and excitement after the night’s events. His friends and intimates cheer at his arrival, although somewhat more boisterously than before. The courtly dignity and decorum they’d exhibited during the coronation ceremony has crumbled completely; aided, in large part, to copious amounts of wine and mead. Like Thor, most have changed out of their ceremonial robes into more comfortable fare. Some already even have courtesans perched upon their laps.

 

“Long live the King,” they chant, and Thor laughs, lifting his arm in greeting. While he’d enjoyed every moment of his coronation, he can’t say he hadn’t been looking forward to this the most.

 

However, waiting for him on his divan is not Loki, as Thor had requested, but two dark-haired female slaves.

 

Thor stops in his tracks. “Where is my dancer? Where is Loki?”

 

Heurig’s eyebrows shoot up; he had evidently not been expecting that question. He purses his lips briefly before answering. “Why, he’s been arrested, My King.”

 

“What?” Thor’s face immediately curls into a terrifying snarl, and Heurig cowers.

 

“We did not want to interrupt your Majesty’s coronation over such a trivial matter, so we thought -”

 

“You thought wrong.” Thor growls, pointing his finger in Heurig’s face.  “Loki is _my_ slave, and if I wish to arrest him I will give the order myself. Now, I specifically ordered him to be present here tonight, so if you wish to retain your position in my court, I suggest you b _ring him to me immediately._ ”

 

Heurig bows - eager to rectify the situation, and doubly so to get out of Thor’s presence when he’s been crossed. 

 

Still fuming, Thor shoos away the girls, takes his place upon the cushions, and demands another drink of wine. Sometimes it feels as though he’s surrounded by imbeciles.

 

“What’s that about?” Volstagg says from his nearby divan, scandalized. “They were _twins_!”

 

Thor merely rolls his eyes. “I sent for Loki tonight,” he says flatly.

 

Volstagg harumphs, his mouth full of some kind of chocolate cake.

 

“Well, when he gets here, make sure you tell that little show-stopper his stunt damn well nearly made me shit my pants.”

 

***

 

Thor hasn’t long to wait. In short order, Loki is hauled in with two Einherjar at his back, his slight wrists bound with magic-inhibiting manacles.

 

Thor is rushing to him before he even realizes he’s on his feet.

 

“Loki,” he says. Loki’s eyes are wide and terrified, much as he’d looked the day before, when Thor had passed judgement on him. But this time, there’s no fury in Thor’s heart - not towards Loki, anyways.

 

There are crystal tear tracks down Loki’s cheeks, his costume is rumpled, and his hair is dishevelled. Someone laid their hands on him.

 

_If he bruises, that someone will get their hands chopped off._

 

“I’m sorry,” Loki whispers. He holds his arms out imploringly.  “I’m sorry, my King, I’m sorry, I’m - AHH!”

 

He’s cut off as Thor grips him under the armpits, and in one smooth motion, picks him up and holds him aloft, laughing in delight. Loki makes a sharp yelp in surprise, his manacled hands scrambling for purchase on Thor’s shoulders. He’s light and airy, much more so than Thor had expected, as though his bones were made of aluminum. Thor holds him there for a moment, high over his head so that everyone present can bear witness, then carefully sets him back on his feet. He takes Loki’s face in his hands and chuckles at the bewildered expression there.

 

“You’re mad, do you know that? Hmmm? What in Bor’s name made you think that was a good idea?” Thor says, utterly unable to hide the fondness in his voice. He smooths his thumbs over Loki’s cheeks. “Never in my life have I ever met a creature as foolhardy and as reckless as you.”

 

Loki’s shoulders sag, and he exhales shakily, the fear and tension seeping from his frame. He flushes, lovely pink spots high on his cheeks. And although his mouth is open, he says nothing - that cunning tongue of his seemingly rendered speechless, for once.

 

Thor tucks Loki to his side, turning to the guards who had escorted him. “By whose order was he arrested?”

 

They look briefly at each other, neither one wanting to give the king a response.

 

“Apologies, most high King,” one begins, “The order came from Captain Rekstag.”

 

 _Rekstag._ He oversteps his bounds. Thor will have to tighten the reins in his command, so that no one will doubt just who is in charge around here.

 

 “Loki is a member of my household, and I his lord and master. Any wrongdoing on his part is to be brought to _me first,_ and no one is to lay a hand on him without my say-so. Do I make myself clear? _”_

 

The guards nod solemnly. “Yes, Imperial Highness.”

 

Thor motions to Loki,  “Now, unbind him.”

 

One guard steps forward with the key, and Loki holds out his manacled hands obligingly. The look on his face is somewhere between relieved, stunned, and almost…. _smug,_ to the point where Thor wouldn’t have been surprised if Loki stuck his tongue out at them _._ That same self-satisfied little smirk that had so irked Thor when Loki belonged to Odin now only tugs Thor to fondness. There is a certain amount of gumption and pluck to pulling a stunt like that. Thor is big enough to admit that his little loveslave has courage. _Impulsive, reckless courage,_ perhaps, but courage nonetheless.

 

The guards murmur their apologies, bow hastily, and back out. Thor turns his attention back to Loki, his voice melting to softness.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“I think so,” Loki says, still looking impossibly shaken. Loki gestures the marks on his wrists, rubbing at the tender skin there. “Aside from -”

 

“Yes, I know. Hush.” He pets Loki’s hair, his lips tugging upwards in a smile, “There was some......confusion, in the wake of your performance”

 

Loki ducks his head, although Thor sees the ghost of a smile tugging at Loki’s lips. “I did not intend to upset the proceedings so....”

 

Thor’s face cracks into a wide, playful grin. “No? No ulterior motive, to surpass all the others, to make all my guests gape in wonder at your loveliness?” Thor pulls Loki close, rumbling into his ear. “Outshine me at my own coronation…..”

 

“With all due respect, My King,” Loki says, looking up shyly through his eyelashes, “That would be quite impossible.”

 

Thor narrows his eyes at the rather shameless bit of flattery, but in truth it’s no worse than anything else he’s heard this day. Thor grins, and decides to let himself be charmed.

 

“Come,” he says, tugging on Loki’s hand. “The night is yet young, and you must be in dire need of a drink.”

 

 

***

 

[Settled in on his bed,](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/e6/fa/69/e6fa69c1ba7c473fa9b79c9d34280f03.jpg) his friends surrounding, the object of his (somewhat considerable) obsession at his side, Thor is hard-pressed to imagine a moment more perfect than this. He is King tonight, finally, and he's practically brimming with youthful enthusiasm and zest for life. His future stretches before him, replete with limitless potential - of battles to be won, adventures to be had, lovers to take to his bed. There is nothing he cannot accomplish. Thor will carve a legacy for himself that will dwarf whatever his father had created. And it all begins tonight.

 

“Here,” Thor says jovially, handing Loki a shotglass of amber colored liqueur. Loki takes it, sniffing thoughtfully, then sips daintily over the edge in a manner more suited to a prim court lady.

 

“Not like that!” Thor laughs. “Haven’t you ever had a proper drink before? All in one go. I’ll do it with you. On the count of three. One….two…..three!”

 

Thor downs his own shot, savouring the burn, the faint taste of licorice chasing down his throat. He smashes the empty glass on the floor in delight.

 

“Another!” he calls.

 

Loki, meanwhile, is coughing like he’d just swallowed a mouthful of sand. He’d finished his shot like a good boy, but his face is red, and he hacks away to sooth the itch in his throat. Thor chuckles, patting him on the back.

 

“Good?” Thor cannot help but grin. “Now smash your glass.”

 

“Water please,” Loki croaks, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist and setting the emptied glass on the tray by his side.

 

“And another one for him as well,” Thor orders the nearby serving boy, who dutifully pours two more helpings. “You must learn, my pet.”

 

Loki merely coughs in response. His cheeks and nose are such a sweet shade of pink - either from the coughing or the alcohol, Thor isn’t sure.

 

Loki steels himself and swallows down his second helping with no complaint. He coughs less this time, and smashes his glass upon the floor, just as Thor had done. His face scrunches up as he’s hit by the rush.

 

“There you go,” Thor beams.

 

“Another,” Loki says, his voice hoarse. Thor lifts his eyebrows, equal parts pleased and surprised.

 

“Oh ho ho! The boy’s got spunk!” Volstagg cheers from his nearby couch. “He’s handling it better than Fandral can! Better keep your eye on this one, Thor, he’s a spitfire!”

Fandral simply huffs, muttering something about Volstagg’s beer-gut under his breath.

  
Thor squeezes Loki to his side, stroking the runt’s cheek with the back of his knuckle. “I’m beginning to see that, my friend; I rather think I have a little troublemaker on my hands.” Thor bellows to his attending servant. “Are you deaf, boy? He said he wants another!”

 

The servant scrambles to obey, and pours Loki and Thor two more shots.

 

“ _Aiwa!”_ Thor says, downing his shot. Loki finishes his as well with only a slight throat-clearing. Pleased, Thor tugs Loki closer with the arm slung over his shoulders.

“How is it?” Thor asks, deciding he rather likes the telltale flush to Loki’s cheeks.

 

“Strong,” Loki answers, and smiles self-consciously. “Forgive me, I am unused to the effects of alcohol. Odin thought it  unbecoming for me to drink.” Loki turns to Thor, wide eyed, as if suddenly realizing his mistake. He stammers, “I mean, His Highness the Allfather.”

Thor clicks his tongue. My my, his father must have been lenient indeed.

 

“Well, I am your master now,” Thor declares, quickly brushing off the reference to his father. His voice becomes low and husky, “And I, for one, have no interest in having you continue to play the innocent virgin…...”

 

“Oi, you two,” Volstagg calls from his sofa. “Take the poor boy upstairs if you’re going to talk like that.”

 

Thor just laughs. “I am King now, and I will do as I like!”

 

“Norns, I don’t know how I will abide the next few millennia if you’re going to rub _that_ in my face every waking moment.” Volstagg moans. Then, as if struck by some grand idea, Volstagg points to two slave boys grinding against each other lewdly. High-class prostitutes, the lot of them, whom Thor had brought in for his guests to enjoy at their leisure.

 

“Why not have him give you a proper show?” Volstagg gestures at Loki. “Go ahead, little one! Go dance a bit for us. You’ll put them all to shame!”

 

Loki looks uneasy at the suggestion. He glances to Thor, eyes wide, the reluctance writ plain on his face. Thor’s cock stirs at the thought of Loki dancing so provocatively - indeed, he makes a mental note to have Loki perform for him in more _intimate_ circumstances - but when he does, it certainly won’t be for _Volstagg’s_ benefit. A sight like that is meant for Thor’s eyes alone.

 

“He’s not a common whore,” Thor snaps, tightening his arm around Loki’s neck “Do not mistake him for such.”

 

Volstagg’s bushy eyebrows shoot up into his hairline. “I didn’t mean it like that, Thor. I was merely suggesting -”

 

“Set your eyes on any other,” Thor growls. He leaves no room for misinterpretation: _Loki is his._

 

Volstagg might’ve been a bit taken aback at Thor’s abrupt moodswing, but he brushes the King’s ire off easily with a loose, good-natured shrug. They have been friends since childhood, and he’s well used to Thor’s little outbursts. “Fair enough.” He hauls himself off the couch and scratches his protruding stomach. “Well then. I might as well partake. I’ve been ogling that one all night.” He gestures to a buxom redhead. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be but a moment - “

 

“A _moment_ indeed,” Fandral sniggers, causing the four of them to break out into raucous laughter. Volstagg squares his shoulders.

 

“My cock is so massive that I only need but a moment to bring my lovers to the heights of ecstasy,” he says indignantly, grabbing his crotch in emphasis, “ _Fandral.”_

 

They laugh again, but this time at Fandral’s sour face.

 

In short order, Thor’s friends excuse themselves, selecting amongst the proffered beauties to take to their beds. As if to counteract the blow to his pride, Fandral retires with two slaves under his arms, one male, one female, a look on his face that _dares_ anyone else to comment his manhood. Volstagg returns, his face stained with lipstick (“Among other places,” he winks, cheeky), but soon collapses on a nearby couch, and falls into a deep, drunken, blissful sleep. Hogun, being the most temperate of the bunch, retires alone - he has never been one to indulge in pleasures of the flesh.

 

“And you, my lady Sif?” Thor asks, turning to his last remaining friend. “Will you take a lover tonight?”

“I might be tempted,” Sif says airly, cocking her head, a playful smile tugging her lips. She gestures to a pretty young man with shaggy brown hair. “If Fandral does not hog them all to himself.”

 

“A bedslave could not be more lucky than to be given the opportunity to please you,” Thor says earnestly. And he means it - of all his friends, Sif is the oldest and perhaps the closest. Smart, strong, and beautiful, Thor once thought, long ago, that perhaps she would make him a good wife. She was the first and only person he’d ever kissed on the lips; coincidentally, she was also the only person to have ever punched him in the face (he had startled her, she said). They had both been young - barely in their teenage years - but it was enough to put an end to Thor’s boyish crush.

 

“You say that because you’ve never been burdened with the task! I am notoriously _difficult_ to please.” She looks back towards the slave, eyes narrowing with interest. “His tongue better be good.”

 

Thor laughs. “Gods help him.”

 

Sif waggles her eyebrows, and bids Thor goodnight with a kiss to his cheek. “Congratulations, my friend.”

 

“Goodnight,” Thor says, grinning back at her. She pats his shoulder and takes her leave. Thor watches her go, the brunet slave’s hand in hers. Loki too is paying attention. He must know that soon Thor too will want to retire.

 

“Wine, Loki?” Thor asks, gesturing to Loki’s empty glass.

 

Loki looks down from where he’d watched Sif exit, as though he’d forgotten he was still clutching his empty glass. He shrugs loosely with a small, tense laugh, “Any more and I might fall asleep in your Majesty’s lap.”

 

Thor grins, not hating that idea, although it would not suit his purposes tonight.

 

“Something else, then,” Thor says, motioning at a servant, who brings him his pipe and lights it.

 

Taking it in hand, Thor takes a deep inhale, cheeks hollowing as he puffs on his pipe. Holding his breath a beat, Thor slowly exhales the tangy smoke. He cracks his eyes open a slit and notices Loki eyeing him warily.

 

“Do you know what this is?” he asks.

 

“I thought….such things were illegal in Asgard.” Loki answers slowly.

 

Thor laughs. “For the common masses, maybe. Not for a King.” He takes another puff and lets his head loll back, humming all the while.

 

“A king who breaks his own law?” Loki says, but his voice is light and teasing, so Thor chooses not to take offense.

 

“I _am_ the law,” Thor corrects. “Here,” Thor offers his pipe. “It’ll relax you, pet.”

 

Loki waves his hand in a gentle, if somewhat sloppy _no thanks._ “I am plenty relaxed enough already.”

 

“Just one,” Thor encourages, and holds the pipe to Loki’s lips before he can utter another refusal. Obediently, Loki takes a long, drawn-out drag. He holds his breath a beat and exhales out the smoke. His eyelashes flutter closed as he does so, effortless as always in his sensuality.

 

Loki hums, “I could get used to this.”

 

“This?”

 

“Being the favourite of the king.” Loki clarifies, and takes another puff of Thor’s pipe without asking.

 

Thor laughs, eyebrows shooting up. “ _Favourite_?” He feigns bewilderment, although deep down he’s idly amused by their little exchange. “This is news to me.”

 

“Well, I am, aren’t I?” Loki goes on, exhaling the smoke through sinful lips. “I am here with you tonight, when you could have had any other.”

 

And despite how much Thor would argue the contrary, Loki is evidently right. He _is_ Thor’s favourite - for the time being, at least. And being a favourite comes with certain perks, does it not?

 

“Seeing as you’ve clearly decided…..” Thor waves a servant forward, who presents Loki with a small velvet box. Loki flicks his eyes to Thor.

 

“Go on, open it _,_ ” Thor says, gesturing broadly, and laughs at Loki’s wary, suspicious face. “I promise no surprises this time.”

 

Loki takes the box in hand, opening it slowly.

 

 _“Oh,_ ” Loki whispers, recoiling slightly. His face is pure shock, and Thor delights in it.

 

Thor smiles lazily. “[Moonstones. From Alfheim.](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/2d/aa/6d/2daa6db74ba6e6c53e31071b78583222.jpg)”

 

“My lord, I -” Loki seems at a loss, and Thor can only laugh.

 

“What?” Thor teases, greatly enjoying Loki’s stupefied face. “Does it not please you?”

 

Loki shakes his head, “Surely this is too extravagant a gift for as lowly a slave as I….”

 

Ha! As if Loki considers himself a _lowly slave,_ the way he peacocks about, haughty creature! He’s fishing for compliments, Thor can tell.

 

Thor smiles slyly, “Ah, but my father lavished you with jewels...”

 

“Not quite like this,” Loki says, still staring in awe at his new necklace, which makes Thor puff his chest up a bit. Less than nine hours crowned and he’s already one-upping his father.

 

“Can not a master reward his slave for his dedication and efforts?” Thor returns, “I think you’ll find I am more than generous to those who serve me well. And besides,” Thor pulls Loki closer, whispering into his ear, “You are my _favourite,_ after all….”

 

Thor is expecting some smug little retort at his teasing, but instead Loki ducks his head, his voice turning  somber.

 

“Forgive me, my King, if I have been presumptuous,” Loki begins softly. “It is a fault of my character that I often do not act with the humility befitting my station. But the truth of the matter is, for all my boasting, I would never have dreamed that Your Majesty held me with such affection…..”

 

Loki looks up then, his eyes bright and hopeful, and Thor is rather at a loss of what to say. He knows he’d been rather…..short-tempered with Loki, in the time before his father’s sleep. As is the folly of men, Thor had coveted the one thing that was kept beyond of his reach. Thor had never been denied before, and he had let it get the better of him. Loki is wise to be cautious. Thor is mercurial, quick to wrath but equally quick to bestow favour. The essence of his godhead predisposes him to tempestuousness; Thor is, at his core, a Storm God. But while his hotheadedness has never interfered with the business of kingship, it tends to sabotage the few close relationships Thor’s struggled to sustain.

 

Well, no matter.  Loki is his now; his lawful possession, to do with as he likes. And right now Thor is feeling indulgent.

 

“You probably think me heartless,” Thor says, equally pensive. “That is what some have said about me, and perhaps with good reason. As a regent  - as a king - sometimes heartlessness is called for. But it does not always have to be so.”

 

At that, Thor reaches for the necklace, and Loki sweeps his hair to one side and allows Thor to snap the clasp in place. Thor’s fingers trail along the sensitive nape of Loki’s neck for the briefest moment, and Thor is once again struck by how soft and cool Loki’s skin is. The jewel hardly compares to Loki’s loveliness, but Thor decides he likes the way Loki looks when he is so resplendently arrayed.

 

“It’s beautiful,” Loki says, toying with the pendant with his thumb and forefinger.

 

And then, Loki surprises Thor once more: by surging forward and placing a sweet, chaste kiss on Thor’s cheek.

 

It’s only the ghost of a kiss, really; Thor barely even registers Loki’s heat before he’s gone again. The gesture takes him off guard, and he blinks a few times rather dumbly. Loki is looking at him, his eyes wide and crystalline, glinting almost eerily bright in the dim light. 

 

“I don’t think you’re heartless,” Loki whispers.

 

And suddenly, Thor aches, deep in his chest - a sudden, wrenching sensation that hits him out of nowhere. Thor doesn't know why it should matter, but in this moment he desperately wants to know what Loki is thinking. _Really_ thinking: whether he means what he says, or if deep down he resents Thor and is simply telling him what he thinks Thor would like to hear - manipulating him for his own ends, as so many others have done before. Thor is not so naive as to believe that Loki’s sweetness goes to the marrow. Beneath all the servile simpering and sycophancy there is the real Loki: willful, sharp-witted, vain, proud, _audacious_. Not the characteristics of a born and bred slave, even one as spoiled and as pampered as Loki. And as much as Thor clings to the familiarity of social propriety, where he knows he’ll be addressed with the reverence and respect befitting his rank, he finds himself curious to learn more about the _real Loki -_ the one who thought it would be a good idea to use his magic after having been _imprisoned for it the night before,_ by Bor’s beard!

 

Then again, if Thor allowed Loki to speak freely, would he even like what Loki had to say?

 

And the thought punches Thor in the gut, digging deeper than before. Even his closest friends are plied with estates and titles. The only person Thor knew for certain loved him has been dead and gone these ten long years.

 

Perhaps it’s the weed that’s making him so soft. Ordinarily, Thor stifles these thoughts and takes his pleasure where he may. He’s King tonight - in name and in deed, _at last_. Whether or not Loki means what he says…..does it really matter?

 

And so, Thor hardens, pushing Loki down gently to lie on his back so that his legs are settled in Thor’s lap. Loki goes, and although his eyes dart about nervously. Evidently, the wine and the smoke hasn’t completely taken the edge off his nerves.

 

“Shall we retire, My lord?” Loki says.

 

Thor is stuffed full, loose from the wine and the herbs he’d smoked, and still buzzing with residual excitement from the festivities. He’s also feeling rather indolent, and not really in the mood to trudge all the way to his new Suite just to suit a pleasure slave’s whims.

 

“My king,” Loki’s voice oozes seduction but Thor detects a note of unease in it,  “The hour is late. Let us retire to your chambers.”

 

“Mmm,” Thor says by way of response, although he’s rather distracted: Loki looks so lovely splayed out like this in his pretty costume, his pretty necklace. Thor reaches up and undoes the ties for the curtains, so at least they are afforded some privacy. The fabric is heavy, but not so much that it completely blocks out the light from outside. He tugs the curtains closed with finality.

 

Loki props himself up on his elbows, unease turning to evident distress.

 

“You mean to….here?” He suddenly seems so small, lacking the confidence he’d shown mere moments before.

 

In a single, predatory movement, Thor curls over, covering Loki’s body with his. He murmurs darkly in Loki’s ear, “No more refusals; no more games. I have waited long enough for you. Be good and lie back.”

 

Maybe he’s as heartless as they say. If he is, it is Odin who made him so.

 

With a gentle hand to Loki’s breast Thor pushes him firmly down, and Loki relents, settling on the cushions with a nervous swallow. His chest heaves under Thor’s palm, heartbeat beginning to race. Thor muscles Loki’s long legs open and kneels between them, taking a moment to admire the latest addition to his harem, spread out for him like a banquet to be devoured. Even though it nearly drove him mad with want, Thor is glad he waited. How very fitting that he should despoil his father’s prized possession on the very night when he ascends to the throne! 

 

Thor trails his hand from Loki’s neck, down his breastbone and to his navel, still half-covered in his bunched-up dance costume. It’s more intricate up close, with red detailing along the hem and Thor’s crest embroidered over Loki’s heart. Although it’s somewhat rumpled now, it must’ve been a lovely garment when Loki had first been laced into it.

 

“I liked your dance,” Thor says thoughtfully, admiring the way his hands span the entire breadth of Loki’s lean waist. “I thought you were….” his voice trails off, “Magnificent.”

 

“It pleases me to hear you say so,” Loki replies shakily. His voice hitches a bit when Thor thumbs over his nipples over the silk. He’s so skittish, even with all the drink Thor had plied him with, but this too pleases Thor. Thor likes innocent virgins, just as Thor likes seasoned, refined courtesans and wanton, shameless whores. Youthful naivete is only an asset for so long. In time, Thor will teach Loki how to pleasure him best. But for now, he’s quite content to let Loki lay back and play the blushing virgin.

 

 “You aren’t going to disappear on me now, are you?”

 

Loki shakes his head no, a shy smile tugging his lips.

 

“An impressive trick to be sure,” Thor says, “How reckless you are, little one.”

 

“You said you wanted something they’ve never seen before,” Loki says.

 

“That I did,” Thor says, toying with Loki’s nipples and thumbing over the nubs until they harden under the fine silk. Loki lets out an involuntary shiver, squeezing his eyes closed for a moment.

He’s wonderfully sensitive, Thor thinks. He responded so well to Thor’s touch before, when Thor had gifted him with the golden beads. It pleases Thor to know that Loki will be an engaging bedmate once he’s been fully introduced to the arts of love.  Although Thor knows he’s a selfish man, demanding and impatient, he does prefer it when his bedmates are as amorous as he, and when his passion is willingly reciprocated.

 

At this point, however, Loki’s unwillingness would not have been enough to stop Thor.

 

“I’ve thought about this for a very long time,” Thor confesses, taking a slim ankle in hand, and marvelling at its delicacy. He kisses the skin there with unabashed reverence and hums at Loki’s sweet scent. He must be truly drunk, because then he laughs, adding, “This and little else.”

 

Wanting to move forward with the proceedings, Thor reaches up under Loki’s hemline and hooks his fingers under the waistline of his underthings. Loki flinches, fingers scrambling at Thor’s questing hands.

 

“What?” Thor says, beginning to get irritated now.

 

“They’ll hear us…” Loki says, his eyes flickering to the curtain.

 

Thor snorts. Everyone is so drunk he’s sure they wouldn’t hear Ragnarok coming. They’ll not be bothered when the curtain is drawn like this. His servants know him better than that. And besides, it’s not Loki’s place to question him on such things.

 

“Then you’d best be quiet,” Thor says, and pulls Loki’s underthings past his hips and down his long legs, until at last, Loki is exposed to him.

 

To say that Thor had been curious to see what Loki is sporting between his legs would be a bit of an understatement. While Thor has had lovers both male and female, he’s never had one that is a mix of the two, as Loki is. But Thor has a certain fondness for novelty, and he’s eager to explore the pleasures that Loki’s dual sexes afford. Thor had had a bit of a struggle imagining what a dual sexed creature would look like, and his cock drools against his thigh in anticipation at what he might find. As promised, Loki is indeed hairless, both along his vaginal lips and at the juncture of his legs. His cunt is plump and fleshy-pink, delicious as a peach, and Thor unconciously licks his lips. Loki’s clit peeks out from in between the folds, ready to be teased and played with. Overall, he appears more….female than Thor had expected.

 

“You don’t look -” Thor begins, more confused than anything. He’s not disappointed by any stretch of the imagination, but he had pictured something more... _in between,_ perhaps? “- Like a boy,” Thor finishes clumsily.

 

“Oh,” is all Loki says. He’s blushing red to his hairline. “I just - um - I need to be…..” Loki seems to brace himself.

 

“What?” Thor presses.

 

Loki’s voice is barely above a whisper, like a dirty secret, “...... _aroused.”_

 

“Oh,” it’s Thor’s turn to say. “ _Oh.”_

 

Thor looks back down at Loki’s tempting little cunny, soft and pink and immaculate. Thor is definitely hard in his silk pants, already craving to climb atop Loki and fuck him like he’s always wanted. But the other half of him - the more cerebral part - wants to explore Loki’s body and see what his intersexuality has to offer.

 

“I see,” Thor grins, eyes glinting with the prospect of a challenge. He licks his fingers obscenely, “You don't find me arousing, pet?"

 

Loki’s mouth opens, hemming, and Thor can tell he’s trying to come up with a delicate response. Thor laughs. Not so sharp-witted when he’s intoxicated!

 

“Well that is something we shall have to remedy, won’t it?”

 

At that, he sinks his fingers into the flowery folds, delicately teasing at the flesh and thumbing carefully at Loki’s clit. Loki makes a small mewling noise, his eyes squeezed shut, but he does not flinch away from Thor’s touch. He seems to have resigned himself to the fact that Thor means to take him here, and not up in the suite as Loki evidently would have preferred.

 

“Relax,” Thor hushes, trying desperately to ignore his own hard cock. “If you’re going to take me, kitten, you’ll have to be nice and wet.”

 

Thor continues his ministrations, getting ever bolder as Loki begins to rock his hips, seeking more stimulation. It’s all the encouragement Thor needs to finally sink his fingers into Loki’s giving little cunt, curling his fingers upwards in the way he knows women like. Loki gasps aloud at this, and a fresh sluice of wetness slickens Thor’s fingers. By now, Loki’s clit is somewhat hardened and pink, peeking out from his labia. It hardens, growing firmer with every pass of Thor’s fingers. It’s more cock-like to be sure, although nowhere near Thor’s own length and girth.

 

“I see,” Thor says, clicking his tongue. “ _Fascinating.”_

 

When Thor catches his eye, Loki blushes, hiding his face behind his hands.

 

Thor chuckles, prying Loki’s hands away. “No need to be shy about it, my sweet. It just means you’ll enjoy our coupling.” His voice goes low, “Which is very fortunate for you, as I have an _insatiable_ appetite.”

 

Thor tries stroking Loki’s cock with his other hand and Loki bucks, seemingly torn between thrusting into Thor’s palm and down onto Thor’s fingers. Loki murmurs something soft and breathy that Thor, in a haze of lust, doesn’t quite catch.

 

“Just do it,” Loki repeats, more firmly this time, but his voice hitches as Thor rubs at him more insistently. “Do it, master, please.”

 

“Yeah?” Thor grins, his cock twitching with eagerness. “You want it, sweet thing?”

 

Loki nods vehemently. The determined glint is back in his eyes. “Fuck me.”

 

At that, Thor’s self control snaps completely. If the runt wants it, than Thor will fuck him until he screams and begs for Thor to stop. Thor pulls his fingers out and hastily undoes the ties to his silk drawstring pants, fumbling at the knot and growling with impatience. There’s precum smeared on his stomach and upper thighs; he wants this so bad he can’t think straight.

 

Thor grabs Loki by hooking his arms under Loki’s knees and tugs him forwards, positioning him just the way Thor wants: flat on his back, legs open and inviting. He gives himself a few cursory strokes, grunting at his own touch. Loki, meanwhile, is wide-eyed at the sight of him, and probably more than a little intimidated.

 

“Spread yourself,” Thor orders, his voice a husky rumble. Loki obeys and parts his labia with his fingers, giving Thor a clear view of the pink inner folds, his virginal entrance. In a single, swift motion, Thor presses forward, impaling Loki on his cock.

 

Loki lets out a started yelp, then quickly presses a hand over his own mouth to stifle his cries.

 

 _“By the gods,_ ” Thor curses, sinking into Loki until he’s completely sheathed. Loki feels... _deeper_ than any ot the lovers Thor’s had before. Being rather gratuitously endowed, Thor’s never really been able to fit all the way inside his bedmates. But Loki is neither an Asgardian maid, nor a elven concubine. He’s a runt, a Jotunn runt. Maybe he’s built differently than the others, made to be mounted by those of greater size than he? The thought makes Thor shudder.

 

Thor thrusts in because he can’t help it. Loki’s cunt is warm and lush and tight around his cock, and he’s already ansty to started fucking him in earnest. He slams Loki again hard before he can stop himself and groans into Loki’s neck.

 

“Ah,” Loki sobs, his face scrunched up in pain, wetness at his eyelashes.

 

In his haze of pleasure, Thor hadn’t even registered Loki’s sharp fingernails digging into his biceps, nor the way Loki’s thighs are clenched around Thor’s waist as if trying to dislodge him. But Thor is buried too deep, too heavy on top of Loki’s slim frame, too forceful and overbearing in everything he does. He couldn’t stop if he tried.

 

“Am I hurting you?” Thor blurts out instead. It’s a ridiculous thing to say, and he knows it, for what is a slave’s discomfort to a king?

 

Loki’s expression melts into something soft and vulnerable as his watery gaze focuses in on Thor’s face. His eyes are so bright in the darkness, Thor wonders if this too is some kind of arcane magic spell.

 

Loki shakes his head. “N-no, my king.”

 

“Liar,” Thor says, although his voice is almost fond. “It’s alright. Hush.”  He pets Loki’s hair and resumes moving, rocking in slower than before, pumping in and relishing Loki’s soft humid gasps against his shoulder. Loki is being good, so Thor is willing to indulge him.

 

Slowly, Thor senses Loki is beginning to open for his master’s cock. The soft gasps of pain melt into ones that sound high-pitched, kittenish, sweet. Loki grip on Thor’s biceps slackens, and now rather than pushing Thor away, Loki seems to be tugging him closer, both by his fingers tangled in Thor’s hair and by the way his ankles have locked around Thor’s thighs. He even begins to rock to meet Thor’s thrusts, eliciting a groan of pleasure from the newly-crowned king. _So good, Loki_ , Thor thinks he hears himself say. _So good, my sweet slave. My favourite._

 

Thor is so lost in the haze of lovemaking that he hardly even registers that he’s being kissed. On the mouth.

 

Thor’s hips stutter, and he breaks pace out of sheer surprise. Loki’s lips are definitely upon his, his fingers tangled in Thor’s hair to keep him in place. Thor has never really been kissed before and he’s rather at a loss; Loki’s lips are soft and insistent against his own, gently coaxing Thor to reciprocate. A swipe of tongue encourages Thor to open his mouth, and he does, moaning softly, sinking into the novel sensation against his better judgement. Loki tastes like wine and carnality, fresh and young and sensual.

 

Thor breaks away. As he should have in the first place.

 

“No, Loki,” he whispers.

 

Loki huffs, laying his head back on the cushion. Loki’s expression is dazed, almost _wounded,_ like maybe Thor had been too sharp in his rejection. His eyes are bright and glassy and pleading in the dim light, and his lips - his pretty, pink-bitten lips - are mouthing a single, breathy word:

 

_Thor….._

 

Had Thor heart it correctly? He isn’t sure. His head is swimming, and not entirely from drink. No, it was definitely his name. Loki had said his name. His actual name. _Thor._ Thor! As if they were lovers.

 

“Do not call me that,” Thor says, although he can’t quite muster any real heat to his words. Thor pulls out, and immediately regrets the loss of the tight wet heat around his cock. “On your belly,” He commands, more forcefully now, because he doesn’t think he’d have the will to resist if Loki tries to kiss him again.

 

 Impatient to resume their fucking, Thor uses a hand on Loki’s hips to encourage him to move. “Come on, quickly.”

 

Thor’s face is firm, and after a brief hesitation Loki does as he’s told, and rolls himself over so that he’s lying on his stomach. 

 

Thor’s lust is ignited anew at being presented Loki’s ass. It’s as lovely as Thor had imagined: firm, hairless, milky white, but still with a lingering fleshiness that comes with youth. Greedily, Thor hitches the hem of the costume up to expose Loki completely: the mounds of his ass, the cunt lips dripping between his legs, the tantalizing shadow of Loki’s furled hole. Growling, Thor grips the flesh of his ass possessively just to savor its meatiness. This is _his_ now, to do with as he pleases. He gives Loki’s rump a solid _thwack_ and Loki yelps in surprise.

 

“Lift your hips, there’s a love,” Thor rasps, positioning himself behind Loki. Loki obediently tilts his hips up in offering, arching his back, and Thor trails down a hand down his flank in reward. He rubs the mushroom head of his cock along the slit of Loki’s cunt, teasing them both, before slamming in and mounting Loki in one smooth thrust. Thor blinks back the stars in his eyes; he can’t imagine himself ever tiring of this sensation. He’d always loved to fuck, but had it always felt this good? Or is Thor simply inebriated, high on drink and elation?

 

Loki cries out as he’s penetrated, but soon his voice peters off into nothing but broken whimpers, half-smothered under Thor’s weight. His fists clutch at the cushions beneath him, knuckles white; his shoulder blades flex at trying to keep himself from being crushed completely. Not wanting to suffocate him, Thor eases back, and props himself up with two sturdy arms beside Loki’s head.

 

Thor resumes moving, pistoning in and out of his pleasure slave, groaning every time he sheathes himself in Loki’s cunt. The new angle is making Loki squeak; Thor is beginning to get the impression that Loki’s inner frontal walls are quite sensitive, and Thor makes a point to rub him there with every inwards thrust.

 

“You like that? Hmm? Thor says, cocky, fucking in with lazy yet powerful thrusts. Loki’s hair is everywhere, masking his pretty face, which simply will not do. Thor grabs a silken fistful and tugs Loki’s head back, not ungently, but with enough force to bare Loki’s neck. “This is what you wanted, yes? To be fucked by the King of Asgard?”

Loki makes a mewling noise, his voice strangled.

 

 “What was that?”

 

“Yes,” Loki cries out, “Yes!”

 

Thor groans, grinding into Loki as deep as he can go. He releases Loki’s hair and instead wraps his fingers around Loki’s throat possessively, although not so tight that it would render Loki unable to breathe.

 

“You’re beautiful, you’re so beautiful, you know that?” Thor pants into Loki’s shoulder, like a goddamn dog in rut. “They all desired you. I bet that’s what you wanted. For every man there to desire you as badly as I do.”

 

Thor says this like it wasn’t also his own desire for Loki to display himself so ostentatiously. Thor hadn’t missed the looks Loki’s dance had elicited, and the thought that Loki is his alone sends a frisson of pleasure down Thor’s spine. Thor is a possessive man, even territorial - the product of being overindulged his entire life. Thor likes the best of everything, he likes being envied for it, and he doesn’t like to share.

 

“I hated seeing you with him,” Thor goes on hotly. “Every single time he touched you, it made me crazy. _You_ make me crazy. You understand? I want you all to _myself_.”

 

Thor emphasizes his point with a harsh thrust that makes Loki rock forwards several inches with a choked cry.

 

“I am,” Loki is saying, although the sound is muffled and punctuated with breathy gasps. “Yours.”

 

“My slave,” Thor agrees, groaning at the way Loki is rocks to meet Thor’s thrusts. “My runtling slut.”

 

Thor fucks in harder now, his previous gentleness degenerating into something harsher, more primal and animalistic. He feels his orgasm fast approaching, and he chases it with single-minded focus, all other thoughts melting away into oblivion.

 

He thinks Loki comes by the way he grinds himself back, his cunt contracting rhythmically around Thor’s cock, his body shuddering under Thor’s own. One day Thor will have Loki face-to-face to watch him as he comes undone, but right now, Thor is too far gone to care about anything other than emptying into Loki’s willing body.

 

And it comes when Thor slams into Loki one final time, balls deep - the tidal wave of sensation shooting up and down his spine, down to his toes and back again. Thor roars, gripping Loki with such brute strength he knows he’ll leave bruises. He thrusts in a few more times to ride out his orgasm, coating Loki’s insides thoroughly with come. Thor sees white spots in front of his eyes. He’s not sure he’s ever had a more satisfying orgasm.

 

Spent and panting, Thor pulls out and flops down at Loki’s side, careful not to crush him after having given him such a thorough fucking. He tucks himself back in his pants as an afterthought and scratches lazily at his stomach. His mind is blissfully blank - the kind of peace that only comes from a post-orgasmic daze. Thor feels like something akin to melting butter, and he lets out a long, drawn out hum of pleasure. The wine and the smoke are taking its toll, and Thor’s eyes droop, sleep encroaching into waking consciousness.

 

He hardly registers the warm body pressed up against his, but he unconsciously pulls the source of warmth closer, and succumbs to a deep, dreamless sleep.

 

 

***

 

***

 

***

 

***

***

 

_“You’re ruined,” is all Helblindi says about it, almost dispassionately, as if Loki’s entire future had not just been completely uprooted in one fell stroke. The word pierces Loki to the core, sharper than any earthly blade. Ruined. There isn’t really no way to come back after that, now is there?_

 

_“I’m not ruined. He didn’t fuck me. I wouldn’t have let him -”_

 

_Helblindi snarls, baring his sharp teeth. “You’re as good as ruined when this gets out! What am I supposed to tell Laufey? What happens when he penetrates you and there’s no barrier? And after I tried so hard to get you into his bed, to provide for your future!”_

 

 

_“You make it sound like it’s all I’m worth.” Loki spits._

 

 _“No,” Helblindi agrees. “You once had your dowry too. Now you are worthless.” Helblindi sighs, a low growling sound, as if in frustrated exasperation. “All I asked was that you keep your purity. Just one simple request when Father died. You impatient, rash creature! Don’t you understand what you have done? Your children could have been_ royalty _.”_

 

_Royalty. Ha. Loki is already royalty - nephew to Laufey-King himself. How was Loki supposed to know his uncle desired him? That Helblindi had long intended for Loki to warm Laufey’s bed and birth pure-blooded royal children for the throne of Jotunheim?_

 

_“Then let me go with him, if Laufey won’t have me,” Loki says firmly, trying to counteract the panic rising in his chest. “It will be a good match. He’s of noble blood, a good lineage. He’ll still have me, I know it. He will take me - “_

 

 _“Are you really that stupid?” Helblindi snarls viciously, making Loki startle. “That’s exactly what he wants! His clan’s ore mines run dry; their fortune will be gone within a generation. Bet he didn’t tell you that while you two were sneaking around behind my back, now did he? Can’t you see, he’s trying to recuperate their losses with the wealth your dowry will bring.” His face softens at Loki’s widening eyes, but his tone is just as mocking. “Oh, you really didn’t know that, did you? My poor, stupid brother, falling for his honeyed words; I thought you knew better than that. He popped you on purpose,_ ruined _you on purpose, and he would have done far worse if I hadn’t arrived when I did. He thinks you’ll have no choice but to go to him now. But I’d sooner see you dead than surrender your dowry to him and his ilk.”_

 

_Loki is silent through all this, the unfamiliar feeling of betrayal sinking into his bones. The gravity of his situation hits him like a cannonball to the chest, punching the air out of his lungs. He can’t even bring himself to bristle at Helblindi’s barbed words. Helblindi is right, after all; Loki has no one to blame but himself. It had been his own idea to try and seduce Ulfr, in the hopes that his marriage would finally free him of Helblindi’s guardianship. Why does he have to be so insolent and wilful? Why couldn’t have he been content to let Helblindi arrange his fate how he may? Why did he make promises to Ulfr he wasn’t even sure he’d be able to keep?_

 

_“What now?” Loki says quietly._

 

_“You must leave. Tonight.” Helblindi says with finality._

 

“You’re sending me away?” 

 

_“Your continued presence at court would be an insult to Laufey,” Helblindi says, and Loki can practically hear the gears in his mind whirring. Helblindi strokes the lines on his chin, “A period of exile will let this scandal cool. In time….who knows what could happen?”_

 

_Helblindi’s voice trails off, but Loki has an idea of what his crafty brother has in mind. Although there’s no way Loki could secure himself a reputable consortship in his current state, there’s plenty of use for a pretty runtling bedwarmer…..even a disgraced one with a forfeited dowry._

 

_Loki looks to the floor, resigned. “For how long?_

 

_Helblindi shrugs. “Until such a time when you can be of use again.”_

 

_And that’s really the crux of it: all his life, Loki’s been only as good as his potential to further the family’s interests.  It is nothing to sacrifice one on behalf of the many. The Jotun race has no use for sentimentality._

 

_“I never intended for this to happen,” Loki says, trying to keep his voice from breaking._

 

_Hellblindi rests his giant hand on Loki’s shoulder - not quite a gesture of comfort, but an approximation of one._

 

_“I know, my brother,” he says with a sigh. “I know.”_

 

***

 

Loki wakes in a daze, his head throbbing and mouth dry, feeling stiff, sore, and deathly tired. There’s a soft rustling noise and sudden draft of cool, fresh air. In the dim light, Loki makes out the form of Thor’s head steward - a bald, portly older man whom some say is a eunuch. He draws the curtain back and beckons at Loki once he sees that Loki is awake.

 

“Come along, child.” he whispers.

 

“Why?” Loki croaks back, his voice almost unnaturally hoarse. He tries to sit up, but his head still swims with drink. He blinks several times to try and clear the spots in front of his eyes. _Damnit, Thor!_

 

“Because,” The steward says, barely audible, “It’s time for you to return to your chambers.”

 

The memory of the previous night comes back to Loki in disjointed fragments - the dance, the arrest, the lovemaking. He can still feel Thor’s dried spend between his thighs, and he feels sticky and sore on the _inside_. He must have only been asleep for a few hours, at the most. Past his curtains, the room is a mess of spilled food and drink, flower petals, broken plates. Someone even lost a wig. A few of Thor’s guests still sleep in a drunken stupor on the couches, although most have long since retired to their own chambers. Silently, servants work to clear some of the debris. They will be kept busy today too, and Loki does not envy them.

 

Beside him, Thor snores softly, one arm slung over his head, the other resting on his belly. Loki has enough of his wits about him to know that he _needs_ to be there when Thor wakes. He wants to be the first thing Thor sees on his first day as king. _Whores_ are sent away in the night, once they’ve served their purpose. And Loki is no whore.

 

“I want to stay here,” he manages to say.

 

“Trust me, you won’t like his Majesty the morning after a night’s revelry,” the steward says, more irritably now. “Come along.”

 

“No,” Loki wrenches his arm from where the steward tries to grab him. “I want to stay here.”

 

The steward sighs, as if he were dealing with an especially stubborn child. “You can’t.”

 

“You cannot make me.” Loki hisses.

 

The steward purses his lips, then turns on his heels. Loki exhales in relief and sinks back into the pillow, letting his eyes droop. 

 

He’s not left alone for long. Without warning, Loki is grabbed and unceremoniously hauled out of bed. Loki thrashes, but it is of no use - his reflexes are sluggish, and when he squeals in surprise, he finds a firm hand pressed over his mouth. It’s all he can do to try and cover himself with what’s left of his costume as he’s ripped out of bed. He’s got nothing on underneath, as his underthings had been torn off by Thor in his haste. Hazily, Loki wonders why he bothers with modesty at all anymore.

 

They haul Loki out to the hallway, where the steward waits, his arms crossed in front of his chest. All that sudden jostling makes Loki want to throw up.

 

“Word of advice, child,” The steward says, “Never forget what you are to him.”

 

“How dare you lay your hands on me,” Loki spits, his words alarmingly slurred. “By word of the king, I am not to be touched. I am a member of his Majesty’s household, and I will not be treated so….so....” Loki blinks several times and swallows down the urge to vomit.. “.....Shabbily.”

 

The steward snorts, rolling his eyes. “His Majesty says a lot of things when his cock is hard.” He gestures to the attendants restraining Loki, “He’s drunk. Take him back to the harem, give him some water. Make sure he stays there.”

 

***

 

Loki is deposited in his harem cell just as the sun is beginning to rise. He does not have the energy to struggle anymore; it would be futile to do so, and every movement exacerbates his nausea. He waits until they let him alone, too tired to even seethe at their rough handling. He fumbles impatiently at the laces up the back of his costume until his arms cramp. He wants the damn thing off. _Now._ From this angle, he can’t see the knot of the laces, and moreover, his coordination is much diminished from the previous night’s drink. Loki curses in frustration, tearing at the silk. In the end, he opts for cutting the laces with a small knife and ripping the fabric over his head. His once pretty, immaculate little costume is now ruined, and Loki doesn’t care.

 

Naked now, Loki shivers, and forces himself to take a drink of the ice water that was left on his dresser. In the mirror, Loki catches a brief glimpse of himself: his hair a dishevelled mess, bags under his eyes, lingering kohl smeared at his eyelashes. No longer the pristine virgin Odin had once adored. Loki refuses to dwell on what Odin might say if he could see him now.

 

Loki’s hand drifts to thumb at the moonstone pendant. He’d forgotten he’d even had it on, and he feels oddly….apathetic about it. Maybe he’s just too tired. Loki unclasps it without really looking at it and tucks it safely in his jewelry box next to his dragonfly hairclip.

 

He has a feeling his headache will only get worse as he sobers up. He casts a clumsy pain-relief spell, but because his body is used to his own magic, the spell is less potent than it would’ve been had someone else cast it over him. He shouldn’t have let Thor get him so inebriated. He should have insisted that Thor take him up to the Imperial Suite for their coupling. That way, he would still be laying in Thor’s arms, undisturbed, and not alone in his harem cell with Thor’s cum still flaky on the inside of his legs.

 

Stiffly, Loki lays down on his floor-bed, sniffling sofly. He’s never felt so exhausted in his entire life. The last few weeks weigh heavily on him, and he succumbs to the stress, his small sniffles turning first into tears, then into a torrent of sobs. He doesn’t even know why he’s crying. Thor is more fond of him than ever; last night went off almost without a hitch. So what if Thor fucked him in public like a common prostitute? Thor had enjoyed himself, that’s all that matters. He’d been quick to jump to Loki’s defense after his arrest - that has to be a good sign! Loki predicts he’ll be riding high on Thor’s favour for the next while, secure in the knowledge that he’ll retain the king’s interest at least until he can obtain a more permanent position in the royal household. He’ll be back in the Imperial Suite within the week, he knows it.

 

Loki curls in on himself and tugs his blanket over his shoulders. He’s still too drunk, too tired, too light-headed from….whatever it was Thor made him smoke. He’s not in his right mind. He’ll sleep it off, and tomorrow everything will be better.

 

It has to be.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and feedback are always lovely xox


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess some people were feeling bad for Loki after that last chapter, so I wrote this “all porn and no hurty feels” chapter. it’s totally gratuitous, unnecessary, and utterly shameless. you’re welcome.
> 
> I was rereading some earlier chapters and wincing @myself. this fic is trash and i am the trash queen. but we’re in too deep to stop now, so without further ado…..i present u…..smut :D
> 
> To my eternal loves nora, alma, buck buck and dangereuse. But also a shoutout to the chinese ladies who are reading the translated version of this! Hello!
> 
> If you want to hear Loki's Jotun dance music, click the link when you are prompted. The song is the first track on that playlist. I also made a Chrysalis/Thorki playlist [here](http://8tracks.com/terezbellydance/the-king-s-lover), because I am a huge nerd like that. 
> 
> Unbeta’d as ever, so any mistakes are my own.

_Loki’s first impression of Asgard is that it is green._

 

_Upon leaving Vanaheim, the Allfather brings him to a quiet summer manor house in the Asgardian countryside, tucked away amongst lush forests and fertile fields. It is springtime and the trees are in bloom. Birds fritter in the canopy and crickets chip at night. The land is thrumming after having been asleep the whole winter long._

 

_So unlike the frosty tundra of his own homeland, where life struggles to thrive._

 

_Loki spends his days indoors in the cool shade, his natural inclination to explore muted by his wariness of this foreign place and its pale-faced inhabitants. They watch him closely with narrowed, suspicious eyes. Loki does not venture far from Odin’s side. He does not dare._

 

_Loki’s apprehension of his new master diminishes little, but he finds he does not hate the old man as much as he thought he would. Sure, Odin treats him as a lapdog. He likes to paw at Loki, certainly -  there’s hardly a time when he isn’t stroking Loki’s hair or belly or thighs - but the touch does not feel sexually charged the way that Ulfr’s did. The fire in Odin’s belly has been extinguished, and Loki is hardly one to complain. Better a lapdog than a whore. It’s humiliating, but Loki endures._

 

_Loki quickly learns to  nuzzle back into his touch. This never fails to elicit a pleased rumble from the aging king._

 

_“I cannot wait to bring you to court,” Odin murmurs. “You will cause a sensation.”_

 

_Loki smiles weakly and tries not to think about it._

 

_As the weeks and months drag on, Loki’s wariness quickly turns to boredom. Very little state documents are brought to Odin, and he only has but to sign them before they are secreted away back to the palace of Asgard. It seems like Helblindi had greatly overestimated Odin’s involvement in governing the Realms;  it is the Crown Prince who is the true king of Asgard.  Loki wonders if he’s wasting his time here, if this mission is as impossible as he’d first thought. Loki often lies awake at night, ruminating, his stomach in knots. What will become of him if he fails?_

 

_These thoughts dissipate by morning. Loki is, above all things, stubborn, and he refuses to abandon the task set before him. Odin must know where the Casket is hidden. It is he, after all, who had stole the Casket away in the first place. And Loki will wring his secrets from him if it’s the last thing he does._

 

_If their positions were reversed, Loki would not be so quick to trust a slave of an enemy race. It’s almost laughable how much Odin clings to him, relying on him for his most basic needs: Loki helps Odin dress, eat, walk. He lays still while Odin sleeps and lets himself be petted when Odin seeks contact. In the evenings, Odin listens to minstrels play bittersweet songs on flutes and harps.The music is strange to Loki’s ears but not unpleasant, and it usually has the blessed effect of putting Odin to sleep. The old man sighs deeply every once in awhile, but otherwise sits perfectly still, a melancholic air about him. Loki wonders if the music is reminding him of something - or someone._

 

_If he’s feeling festive, Odin has Loki dance for him. While this clearly pleases him best of all, it’s a rare request for him to make. Perhaps he does not want the novelty of Loki’s dancing to wear off too soon, or perhaps he is trying not to overexert Loki. Although Loki obliges, it always feels so odd to perform for just a single pair of eyes. Loki would much prefer an audience of a thousand to the Allfather’s unwavering stare. They have no Jotun minstrels here, so Loki has to adapt his repertoire to suit Asgardian music. Often the steps don’t seem to fit with the beat, his movements odd and out of place, but Odin hardly seems to notice. Loki tailors his movements as best as he can, and after a few months, he becomes rather adept at it. This new style is wholly unique, wholly his own. A mix of both cultures._

 

_When Odin’s touch becomes insufferable, Loki slips away from underneath his sleeping form to find sanctuary in the bathchamber. Submerging himself in cold water helps to clear his head and cool his temper. Loki has always prefered to be alone, but these days he craves solitude more than ever. Sometimes he just needs a reprieve from constantly simpering at everything Odin does. He truly hates who he is when he’s in Odin’s presence._

 

_It’s times like these when Loki lets his mind wander. He hums thoughtfully to himself as he soaks his hair, letting his fingertips drift downwards to the place between his legs. He palms at himself there and lets mindless pleasure consume him. He can’t help that he was born with a lusty appetite. As a youngling, Helblindi had been assigned to watch over him to make sure he didn’t do something so stupid as peirce himself - not that Loki would have ever contemplated doing such a reckless thing. From a young age, he knew that if he didn’t bleed on his first night, he’d be shamed forever._

 

_But now, Loki supposes it doesn’t matter. His questing fingers venture further still, to his cunt opening, teasing himself open with first one then two fingers. He likes the way this feels, although it’s nowhere near the fullness he seeks. Dimly, Loki wonders what it would be like to have an affair with one of those palace guards while Odin sleeps, since it doesn’t look like he’ll be properly laid any time soon. Ha! Helblindi would love that - Loki losing what’s left of his virginity to some low born, nameless palace guard. Loki would almost consider doing it just out of spite._

 

_This is nothing but an idle fantasy, so for the time being Loki must settle for his own touch. He strokes himself to hardness and comes to the thought of a larger body pressed against his own. Sighing, Loki rinses away the traces of his spend and finishes washing his hair. He returns to Odin’s side just in time to see him wake. Maybe it was the cold water that had completely defused Loki’s bad mood; or maybe it was the orgasm. But when Odin smiles up at him adoringly, Loki unthinkingly, reflexively, smiles back._

 

 

***

 

The day after the coronation, Thor does not call for him. Which is just as well, because Loki is so exhausted from the past few weeks that he sleeps until evening, and goes right back to bed after forcing down a bit of bread and cheese.

 

The day after that, Loki is somewhat miffed. Surely he’d have received some word from Thor by now? He tries not to take it to heart, however, since Thor must have more pressing things to attend to. He’s king now, after all, and the affairs of state cannot be held off even for a coronation.

 

By the third day, Loki is downright antsy. Invasive thoughts swirl in his mind, granting him neither rest nor reprieve. Loki tries to think where he’d gone wrong, although his memory of that night is somewhat patchy. Had he been too lifeless? Too shy and nervous and inexperienced for the king’s liking? In his own defense, Loki could do nothing _but_ lie there like a slab of meat. It’s not his fault that he’d been too intoxicated to fully respond to Thor’s touch. Ugh.

 

Maybe it was the kiss…

 

Shamefully, Loki thinks that he’d liked it - and not simply because securing his position as the King’s favourite bodes well for his mission. Loki’s cheeks heat at the memory of Thor overwhelming him, covering Loki’s slim body with his own, his forceful thrusts and his greedy hands. Loki is sore and _still_ his body craves the King’s punishing touch. Loki was never the temperate sort. Hadn’t Helblindi always said so?

 

It’s on the fourth day that Loki is finally sent for, and Loki could almost cry with relief.

 

 …..That, or blast Thor with a bolt of magic.

 

He waits in the antechamber of the Imperial suite, chewing his lip and shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He fusses with his hair in a nearby mirror, although he knows he looks fine. His stomach flip-flops like he can’t decide whether to be annoyed or anxious. If Thor doesn’t show, Loki might just have a full-on mental breakdown.

 

But, the King does, bursting into the room with a flourish, his face alight in a blinding smile. Loki startles, but quickly regains his composure and dips into his familiar bow of greeting.

 

“Loki,” Thor strides towards him, his cape flaring at his back. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes!" He rests his hands on Loki’s shoulders, dipping his head to catch Loki’s eye. “You are well? Rested?”

 

There’s an air of urgency about him that immediately puts Loki on edge. But Thor doesn’t seem upset or angry. Rather the contrary; Thor seems greatly pleased to see him.

 

“Yes, Majesty,” Loki replies, flustered by the sudden onslaught of the King’s attention, to the point where he forgets to feel irritated at having been snubbed for four days. “I am. Thank you.”

 

“I haven’t much time,” Thor rasps, sliding his hands down Loki’s arms. “A few moments, at most.”

 

Loki doesn’t even have the opportunity to respond before he’s hefted off his feet and set on a nearby side table. The table’s width is shallow, barely wide enough to sit on, so that Loki’s back is pressed flushed against the palace wall. Thor spreads Loki’s legs and stands between them, grinding impatiently between Loki’s thighs.

 

“ _Oh,”_ Loki says, breathless. He’s already hard, the dog!

 

“I’ll go mad if I have to sit through the next five hours in a state of such desperation,” Thor murmurs, panting hotly into Loki’s ear. His fingers are already sneaking up Loki’s thighs, past the hem of his skirts. Greedy fingers pry off Loki’s underthings, pulling them down his legs. Loki would roll his eyes at Thor’s eagerness if he weren’t so shaken by this sudden turn of events. 

 

Everything is a hazy blur. Thor spears him in one solid thrust, making Loki cry out in pain. Loki is still not used to the feeling of being fucked, and the King’s cock is not exactly what one would call _insubstantial._ It hurts at first - Thor is too rough, as ever - but Loki is also slickening from the sensation of Thor’s breath hot on his neck, his hands on his waist. The King shifts positions and rubs at _that spot_ inside him, and Loki lets out an embarrassing mewlish noise. He instinctively locks his ankles behind Thor’s back, and Thor growls his name like it’s a curseword.

 

Thor’s every thrust rattles the table, making it go _clunk clunk clunk_ against the far wall.. A vase tumbles to the floor and shatters, but Thor hardly pays it any heed, so engrossed is he in the act of rutting. Loki blinks back the stars in his eyes every time Thor’s cock hits home. All he can do is snake his arms behind the king’s neck and hold on.

 

Loki comes with a broken moan as his hard cock rubs up against Thor’s stomach. Thor lasts no longer, slamming Loki hard before spending deep inside. He stills at last, panting to catch his breath.

 

“I missed you,” Thor says hoarsely..

 

 _Then why didn’t you send for me?_ Loki wants to scream, but holds his tongue. The king is smiling at him, lopsided, roguish and self-satisfied, and Loki’s inner reserve of ire - deep as it is - is running dry.

 

“I was waiting for your call,” Loki says instead.. An impressively diplomatic answer, given that Thor’s soft cock is still inside him.

 

Thor merely hums contentedly into Loki’s cheek and places a kiss there. He pulls out and tucks himself away into his trousers. Loki gingerly sets himself on his feet, wobbly like a newborn foal. Thor looks impressively regal for having just fucked Loki into the wall, although there is a telltale glisten to his brow that wasn’t there before. Loki, meanwhile, feels sloppy, Thor’s cum seeping down his inner thigh. Gods, it’s like a geyser went off inside him.

 

Thor shoots him another lazy, wolfish grin.

 

“I wish for you to join me again. Tonight,” he says, smoothing down his trousers. “A troupe of players has been invited to my private court and I thought perhaps, for once, you might enjoy being the one to be entertained.”

 

Loki can only nod dizzily. “Yes, my lord.”

 

“Do not bathe,” Thor announces. “I like to know you’ll be wet and dripping with it until I can properly breed you again.”

 

At that, Thor picks up Loki’s discarded underthings, holding them up to his nose and sniffing thoughtfully. With a mischievous smirk, he pockets them deep within his robes.

 

Loki lets out a garbled _as you wish,_ and he knows his face must be rather pathetically gobsmacked. The whirlwind encounter has left Loki bewildered, and he knows he looks it too. And Thor is practically laughing at him, the bastard! Loki is annoyed at himself for getting so flustered, _again_. Ugh, but it is simply hard to _think_ with all that hot bulk pressed up against him, _inside_ him. One of these days it will be Loki who will bring Thor to his knees. Yes. Loki’s pride  depends on it.

 

Thor chuckles darkly, taking Loki’s hand and pressing a kiss to the outer wrist.  “Till then.”

 

***

 

If there is one thing Loki prides himself on, it’s his ability to observe. Watching others and determining their thoughts and motives has always been his greatest survival skill. Being so small has made him acutely aware of his own vulnerability. Loki has always been cognizant of his reliance on others - on Helblindi, Ulfr, Odin, and now on Thor. Giving Thor what Thor wants is the key to Loki’s own success. And Loki makes it his business to study the King in great detail.

 

The first thing Loki notices is that Thor is a man of appetites.

 

Be it food, drink, adventure, or sex, the King’s zest for life is so overpowering Loki sometimes feels like he’s being consumed by it. He eats like he fucks: with unabashed, shameless gusto. He’s insatiable, and often much more agreeable by the time he’s though. But neither is Thor a low-brow simpleton. The King has a connoisseur's eye for fine art and music, although Loki notices he seems to prefer bawdy plays to the stuffy, pretentious dramas Odin used to favor. He’s an enthusiastic patron of the arts, Loki learns, and has quite a reputation for sponsoring works of fine craftsmanship. Thor commissions several monuments in honor of his father, although this appears to be more for show than a genuine display of filial piety. If anything, Thor seems _glad_  to be rid of Odin. He does not mourn for Odin in private - or at least, not in any way apparent to Loki. The thought is a sad one. Loki could tell their relationship was frosty, but surely a son could spare a single tear for his lost father?   

 

The play Thor invites Loki to is a comedy - a tale of mistaken identities, cross-dressing, slapstick, and of course, true love. Thor laughs heartily all the while, one arm slung over Loki’s shoulder, his other hand clutching a goblet of wine. His fingertips ghost along the sensitive skin of Loki’s neck, making it prickle with goosebumps. Loki is never truly _relaxed_ in Thor’s presence, per se, but tonight he allows himself enjoy the show, and even lets out a chuckle or two at some of the hijinks onstage. It doesn’t escape Loki’s notice that he’s no longer assigned to attend Thor as a servant would. When Thor’s cup empties he gestures to a nearby attendant to fill it, and when Loki does the same, he is obeyed. No longer is he just a slave, but a true royal favourite.

 

Sometime in the third act, when the romantic lead is confessing his love for the lady, Thor’s hand slides up Loki’s thigh in a manner that could only be described as purposeful. Although the King’s gaze rests unwaveringly on the actors, Loki can tell Thor is no longer as engrossed in the story as he once was. Thor’s hand probes ever higher, slipping between Loki’s legs and under his clothes. Loki obediently parts his legs to allow him access, his heart beginning to speed. It’s dark, but not so much that someone couldn’t see what they were doing if they looked hard enough. Loki does his best to be as nondescript as possible so as not to draw any unwanted attention. He’s still wet from their earlier fucking, having abstained from washing as Thor had requested. He’s also still nude underneath his clothes, something which Thor seems to find both immensely pleasing and convenient for his current purposes.

 

Loki is still achy from earlier, but somehow his body still responds to Thor’s ministrations, and a pulse of unwanted pleasure shoots up his spine. Loki makes a soft huff through his nose, but otherwise keeps perfectly still and complacent. His head buzzes from the wine he’d been drinking, and Loki sinks back into his cushions. It feels good, and Loki’s too tired to fight the arousal. He surrenders, closing his eyes and focusing wholly on the feeling of Thor rubbing at his hardening clit. Eventually, Thor’s fingers slip lower still to slide inside Loki’s wet cunt. Thor fucks him like that slowly but firmly, with a patience and restraint that was clearly lacking during their encounter earlier that day. When Loki opens his eyes a slit, Thor is still staring straight ahead, although his gaze is unfocused, like his attention is diverted elsewhere.

 

Loki’s arousal builds and he’s sure he’s going to come. He grips his armrest tight. Just a bit more. Right there. _Right there._ Loki groans in his throat. He’s so close. He’s almost there.

 

Thor retracts his hand abruptly. He’s clapping. Everyone is clapping. The play is over. Thor looks over at Loki, grinning like the absolute bastard he is.

 

“Did you enjoy the ending?” he asks, his eyes gleeful, ”Or did you find it perhaps a bit…... _unsatisfying_?”

 

He pinches Loki’s cheek and laughs brightly at Loki’s scowl.

 

***

 

Yes, Thor’s libido is boundless.

 

In the following weeks, Loki often finds himself being bent over tables or crowded up against walls, fucked roughly like a dog takes a bitch. Thor is demanding after having been held off for so long, and there’s little Loki can do except simply lie there and take it. Thor spends most of his evenings at banquet with dignitaries from all over the Realms - the coronation festivities drag ever on - so when he calls for Loki, it’s usually in the afternoons, when the sun is high and the court is feeling lazy. Loki quickly learns to make himself ready himself in preparation for the King’s arrival, for he knows when Thor comes to him he’ll be in an _amorous_ mood, and half the time the king can’t be bothered with any foreplay at all, electing instead to flip Loki over and enter him in one smooth thrust. 

 

Loki cries out when Thor does this, his hair hanging in his face as Thor immediately sets a brutal rhythm. It’s animalistic and far too rough, but even so, Loki bucks backwards in a wordless demand for more. It is the curse of this body that Loki is so responsive to pleasures of the flesh, and every time Thor’s cock rubs and stretches his insides just the right way, Loki lets out an involuntary moan. By now, Loki’s clit has hardened and engorged into a cock, and it throbs, demanding his attention. Loki is half crushed under Thor’s bruising grip. but somehow he manages to snake a hand down between his thighs to palm at himself.

 

He barely gets a few pumps in when Thor grips a fistful of Loki’s hair and wrenches his head back painfully, still buried balls deep in Loki’s body. Loki wails, his hands scrambling to keep himself upright as his back is forcefully arched. Thor stills completely, his breath humid on Loki’s shoulder, and places a wet kiss to the back of Loki’s sweaty neck. 

 

“Cum on my cock, Loki,” Thor rasps into Loki’s ear, his tone honeysweet and playful. “Just from my cock.”

 

He grinds his prick in deep for emphasis, and Loki lets out a broken whimper.

 

“Can you do that for me, kitten?” Loki can practically _hear_ the smarmy grin in his voice, “Hmmm? Cum from just getting your little cunt fucked?”

 

Loki grits his teeth in frustration. He’s close, _so close._ If he could touch himself he’s sure he’d spill. Thor so enjoys denying him. Well, if that’s the way he wants to play, so be it.

 

In lieu of an answer, Loki swivels his hips back onto Thor’s cock. He moves in tight circles, clenching down on the hot prick inside him, and Thor moans appreciatively - he likes that, the bastard. Loki does it again out of spite and is rewarded by a fresh pulse of pleasure up his own spine.

 

Loki bucks under Thor’s massive weight, pushing back until Thor sits back on his haunches, so that Loki’s half seated in Thor’s lap, half on all fours. In this attitude, Loki has more control over the pace and depth of their lovemaking, which he fully intends to use to his advantage.

 

Loki fucks himself back, focusing on the sensation of Thor’s hard cock spearing his insides, rubbing him raw. Faster and faster Loki goes, rutting in the way that feels most pleasurable to him. He can feel the arousal building in the bottom of his belly, aided in no small part by the weight of Thor’s hands on his back, his hips, his shoulders. Just that extra bit of stimulation is enough to distract him from the temptation of touching his cock, although if given half the chance Loki would’ve been fisting himself violently by now.  He must be putting on quite the wanton display, fucking himself on his master’s cock like this. He clenches down again and Thor curses behind him.

 

“So long as you do not spill first, My lord,” Loki retorts breathlessly, because he can’t quite help himself.

 

Thor laughs, and Loki can feel it reverberate up his cunt.

 

“Cheeky,” the king says, and delivers a light slap to Loki’s ass. It’s then that Loki feels a wet pressure against his arsehole - what must be Thor’s thumb - rubbing but not quite pushing in. Taken off guard, Loki’s hips stutter in their rhythm, and Thor laughs again. Loki climaxes with a loud sob, spilling over the sheets below. It comes upon him so suddenly and so unexpectedly that Loki hardly has time to brace himself, and he bucks like a wild animal on Thor’s cock until the contractions in his cunt subside. Thor fucks him through it, gripping Loki tight around the waist as if to wring every last ounce of pleasure from him. Loki’s sure the servants outside their door heard him scream.

 

Loki slumps onto the daybed, boneless and panting. Thor has yet to come, and is still as hard and as indomitable as ever.

 

“A valiant effort indeed,” Thor hums into Loki’s neck, then surges forward and presses Loki down into the mattress. At that, Thor lets loose his baser impulses, fucking Loki mercilessly before gripping Loki tight and spilling deep inside. He goes limp on Loki’s much smaller frame, and Loki struggles to even draw breath under his great weight.  Thor takes a moment to catch his breath, his ragged pants turning to lighthearted chuckles against Loki’s back. Thor gives Loki’s ass another appreciative pat - _you did well_ \- before rolling off and laying at Loki’s side.

 

“I had imagined you’d be a good lay,” Thor says with a contented sigh. He yawns, stretching indolently, and Loki uses the opportunity to shuffle closer and nestle under one of Thor’s arms. He’s less composed than he’d like to be, for truly Loki thinks his spine might’ve turned to jelly.

 

“You imagined laying with me?” Loki teases.

 

Thor cracks an eye open, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Aye, you vain little creature,” He reaches over and gives Loki a playful squeeze around his ribcage, which has the unfortunate effect of making Loki let out a ticklish squeal. “Many a time and oft. Is that what you wanted me to say?”

 

Thor lies back down, grinning.

 

“It’s in the way you move,” He says sleepily. “Like a dancer.”

 

Another thing Loki has come to learn about his master: Thor likes flattery. He likes his ego to be stroked just as much as his cock.This requires something of  a subtle touch, for any overt displays of brown-nosing make Thor bristle in distaste. Words are empty - Loki knows this more than any other. If Loki is to weasel his way into Thor’s affections, it will be through _action,_ not through words.

 

Which is why, when Thor asks him if he knows any traditional Jotunn dances, Loki knows he has to say yes.

 

“Would you dance one for me?” Thor asks with what could almost be a slight pout. His expression is easy-going and indulgent, as it always is when they’ve just finished fucking. “I am to banquet one night with each ambassador from the Realms, and I thought it would be sign of goodwill for you to perform for the Jotnar delegates.”

 

Loki’s enthusiasm instantly dwindles, replaced instead with a knot of discomfort in his stomach. He’s careful not to show it, however, and instead smiles up at his master.

 

“It would be an honor,” Loki says.

 

 “Excellent,” Thor hums, absently stroking Loki’s cheek with a knuckle. “I hope I am not overexerting you.”

 

He says this because Loki is also set to dance for the court the following evening - his first official performance since the coronation. Loki is far less nervous this time around, and hadn’t even bothered coming up with a new choreography for the occasion. Thor is no expert on the subtleties of dance. If Loki repeats an old choreography Thor probably won’t even notice.

 

Loki shakes his head. “No, majesty. I am always happy to dance for you.”

 

Thor’s grin widens, splitting his face in two, and Loki’s heartbeat flutters at the sight of it. “My sweet little dancer. I’ll have to find some way to reward you.”

 

Loki lowers his head modestly, in part because Thor’s smile is searing his eyeballs. “I’ll need proper music,” he says. “Jotunn music. For the Ambassador.”

 

Thor thumbs at Loki’s lower lip.  “Of course.”

 

“And, mmph, the gilded anklets and headdress, those are traditional.”

 

“Whatever you desire.”

 

Loki stifles a frown. What he wants most of all is Thor’s kiss, but he knows he won’t get it - _not yet, anyway -_ and to ask for it now would only spoil Thor’s good mood. As much as Loki wants to push forward, he knows he must be patient. Thor has warmed considerably to him, of that Loki is certain, but Loki can’t be sure if he’s earned enough of the King’s affection to start pressing for more conspicuous displays of royal favour.

 

Thor settles down then, his breath evening out like he’s on the verge of an afternoon catnap. His eyelashes fan out against his cheeks, and once again Loki is reminded of how handsome the King of Asgard is. Thor doesn’t seem to mind when Loki trails his hands over his chest.  Rather the contrary; he hums encouragingly, which emboldens Loki to stroke down his shoulders and arms. On a whim, Loki uses a warming touch, and Thor lets out a deep rumble.

 

“Is that your magic?”

 

“Yes,” Loki answers. He purposefully does not tack on _majesty_ or _master_ to see if Thor will object, but to his immense satisfaction, Thor does not even seem to notice. “Shall I stop?”

 

“Don’t you dare,” Thor murmurs.

 

Loki’s face splits into a grin. It’s looking less and less likely that Thor will bind his magic - not when Loki makes it so _useful_ to him.

 

“If I may be so bold,” Loki says, sitting up, “Might I suggest that Your Majesty roll on his front?”

 

Thor’s eyes open a slit, considering Loki for a moment, and then his lip twitches up like he knows where Loki is going with this. Without any fuss, he smoothly rolls over, laying with his arms cradled under his head.

 

 Loki swallows hard at being presented the vast expanse of Thor’s muscled back - rippling with strength and coiled power.His mouth goes dry.

 

 

Thor lets out an amused noise at the way Loki seats himself astride his arse, but he does not object, for this is clearly the best position to allow Loki to work.They’re both quite naked, but as ever, Thor is shameless in his own nudity. A part of Loki resents him for it. Clearly, being nude does not instill in him a feeling of vulnerability the way it does for Loki.

 

More embarrassingly, Loki knows Thor’s cum is dripping out of his cunt, and Loki is quite sure Thor can feel it. But Thor has no one else to blame but himself for that particular bit of debauchery, so there’s really no point in feeling self-conscious about it. 

 

Loki begins to knead at the muscle in Thor’s neck and shoulders, and is immediately heartened by the groan of pleasure the king emits.

 

“Good?” Loki says innocently.

 

“Mmmmph,” Thor says by way of response, the sound muffled by the pillow underneath Thor’s face. Loki warms his touch and Thor downright shudders.

 

“Too much?”  
  
Thor shakes his head weakly. “ _More.”_ ”

 

Loki grins and digs his fingers deeper, working the meat of Thor’s shoulder and kneading at his pressure points. The warmth from the magic helps to undo the knots of tension, and Thor groans appreciatively. Yes, he’ll be hard-pressed to bind Loki’s magic after _this._

 

 _“Right there._ ”

 

 “Here?”

 

“ _Ugh_.” Thor seems to be melting into the bedding. ”Where were you on my campaign to Svartalfheim?”

 

Loki laughs - genuinely, for once. He rakes his nails in Thor’s shaggy blonde hair and delights in the shiver it elicits.

 

“The mighty King of Asgard, reduced to a purring kitten,” Loki teases gently. “I could ask anything of you now.”

 

Thor makes another inarticulate noise. “I wager you could.”

Loki simply continues his ministrations, digging his fingers deep into Thor’s muscles, rubbing down his back and over his shoulders, down his spine and along his waist. Save for the occasional soft hum of pleasure, Thor is placid and still under him. Tamed, even. Loki decides he likes Thor best like this. So relaxed and malleable. Agreeable. It’s hard to be afraid of him at all.

 

Loki immerses himself fully in his task, his own body still thrumming pleasantly with orgasm. He finds he doesn’t mind doing this for Thor, and for the first time since Odin fell into sleep, he lets his mind settle. If this is what life with Thor could be like….well. There are certainly worse fates to be had.

 

Having lost track of time, Loki hardly even notices when an attendant slips into their chamber. At the sound of the door closing Loki gasps, scrambling to cover his nudity with the sheet. He scowls as soon as he sees who it is - same steward who had ripped Loki out of Thor’s arms on coronation night. 

 

The man narrows his eyes at Loki, then dips his head in a bow.

 

“Pardon, Majesty,” he says softly, “It is mid-afternoon….nearly three o’clock…..”

 

Underneath Loki’s thighs, Thor makes what could only be called a petulant huff. “Council can be rescheduled.”

 

The steward hems like he’s unsure if Thor is being serious or not, and there’s a long awkward moment where no one moves and no one says anything. But then Thor grunts and shifts under Loki - a silent cue for Loki to move off of him. Loki does, still clutching the sheet against his privates. Even if this steward is a eunuch as they say, Loki doesn’t like the thought of him seeing Loki in any state of undress.

 

Thor rolls on his back, his manhood quite exposed, but again the king pays no heed. Thor makes another huffing noise before shooing the attendant away with a flick of his hand.

 

“Very well. I will be but a moment.”

 

The attendant bows and exits, shooting Loki one more wary glance before he departs. Loki tries to think if he’s heard that man’s name before. If that he thinks Loki’s forgotten how he treated him on coronation night, he’s got another thing coming. 

 

Thor huffs for what must be the third time and rubs at his eyes.

 

“Must you go?” Loki says softly.

 

“It _pains_ me,” Thor oozes. He’s laying spread on the mattress as if he’s been liquified. “But yes. Help me dress, pet. And cover yourself, for gazing upon your naked flesh does nothing to strengthen my resolve.”

 

It’s only after Thor leaves that Loki comes down from his high. It’s nearly evening and Loki doubts Thor will come to him again. It seems like, as ever, he’ll be sleeping alone in his harem cell tonight.

 

Nonetheless, Thor seems more than happy to lavish him with any kind of material gift: furs, silks, perfumes and oils. Soon enough, Loki’s jewelry box is replenished with all kinds of shiny knick-knacks and baubles. The moonstone pendant is still by far his prize possession, however, and Loki wears it as much as possible around the palace grounds. The other harem girls look upon him with jealous, narrowed eyes; the royal favourite is always a pariah among his or her peers. Loki tries not to pay them any heed. So long as he has Thor’s interest, no one can touch him.

 

And that’s the way Loki intends to keep it.

 

***

 

Loki’s next observation: Thor is well and truly a King.

 

Loki comes to this opinion grudgingly - for if there were any fault in Thor’s character Loki would be quick to seize upon it -  but he can’t deny that Thor was born for the throne of Asgard. 

 

Loki sees Thor very little in an official capacity - Loki’s main duty, as ever, is _de-stressing_ the King after taxing days at court - but when he does, he never fails to be impressed at Thor’s regal comportment and dignified bearing. Thor navigates courtly life with an easy grace borne of a lifetime of privilege. His every word and action is effortlessly confident. He has a certain natural flair for flamboyancy and showmanship that gives his court a lively, energetic air. His voice commands both respect and obedience, and when he’s angered, the skies roll with thunder. He’s nothing like the lustful hedonist Loki knows him to be in private.

 

Dancing for the court is an entirely different experience thn performing for Thor’s close circle of friends and intimates. This is because _Thor_ is different.

 

This Thor - _King_ Thor - does not allow Loki to speak or act freely. They are not equals here. Loki knows this instinctively. 

 

Loki executes his dance perfectly, and this time isn’t shy to let loose a bit of fireworks for artistic effect. Afterwards, Loki is beckoned towards Thor’s throne. He obediently kneels before his master and kisses his boot - being still _officially_ too low in status to kiss his ruby ring as a courtier would. Thor nods at him, and it’s only by the slight smile on his lips that Loki knows he’s pleased him at all.

 

This Thor is aloof and intimidating.

 

This Thor acts like he hadn’t held Loki close and fucked him so sweetly mere hours before.

 

It’s only in private when Thor is himself again, embracing Loki, kissing his cheek and making his affection known. Loki swallows down his bitterness as best as he is able, but he must be stiff in Thor’s arms, because Thor seems to notice something is amiss. Thor pulls back, his brows knotted, and cups Loki’s cheek.

 

“Is something troubling you, love?”

 

Loki fights the urge to sneer at the endearment. The most infuriating thing is that Thor probably would not even _understand_ why Loki is so upset. For Thor, this is just the way of things: he is one person in public, another in private. And Loki is hardly one to be complaining of _disingenuousness._

 

 _Yes,_ Loki wants to scream. _Yes, something is troubling me._ _I am still just a slave to you._

 

Loki smiles and shakes his head. “No, my King. I am well.”

 

Thor side-eyes him, like he can see straight through Loki’s artifice. He seems uncertain.

 

“You were beautiful today,” he says. “You pleased me very much. I’ll have more robes tailored for you, of the finest silk. And perhaps even a sable fur coat. Hmmm? Would you like that?”

 

Loki wants to laugh. For all his intellect and education, the King of Asgard is truly dense sometimes.

 

“Yes Majesty. You are most generous.”

 

Thor frowns, but seems unwilling to press. He collapses into an armchair with a weary omph, sighing in what sounds like frustration. He rubs his temples underneath his crown.

 

“I cannot be seen to be frivolous with sentiment,” he says tiredly. “I know that’s why you are upset.”

 

Loki whips up his head. _Well._ He is perhaps more astute than Loki gave him credit for.

 

“Especially given your…...heritage,” Thor goes on, now somewhat awkwardly. “Many at court disapprove that I have taken you as my favourite. This is what it means to be my lover, Loki. If I am cold it is only because I must be. I am King; I do not belong fully to myself. To show you special treatment would be interpreted as weakness.”

 

Not for the first time, Loki is reminded of how very similar Thor is to his father: the way his forehead creases, the unhappy set of his mouth when something is bothering him. And as much as Loki wants to let Thor stew, Loki knows it’s not in his best interest to do so. He’s worked hard to establish some rapport with Thor; it would be unproductive to sour it just because Loki’s pride has taken a small hit. Thor has opened up to him, therefore Loki must be gracious.

 

“Thank you for your concern and forthrightness,” Loki says softly. “It means more to me than any jewel. I understand that you are bound by your station, and you must abide by it. I was...being childish. I sometimes forget your duty comes first.”

 

Loki approaches Thor cautiously, and is heartened when Thor accepts him into his lap, so that Loki is seated astride him. Pressed so intimately together, Loki can feel him between his legs, the warmth there building, and Loki knows, unequivocally, that this encounter will end in sex.

 

“It must be difficult,” Loki goes on carefully. “To be who you are. So much responsibility placed upon your shoulders.”

 

Thor narrows his eyes. “You think me unfit?”

 

“Nay, my lord,” Loki replies. “Truly you are the most capable prince to have ever graced the throne of Asgard. I am merely suggesting that, perhaps, when you are not fulfilling your public role, you might forgo such formalities.....”

 

“I do,” Thor says with a weary laugh. “More than I should.”

 

He seems tired, like perhaps all the ceremonies and formal banquets are wearing him down. He looks older already, and Loki wonders if maybe he’s mourning his father more than he lets on.

 

“If only I could bear some of your burden.” Loki twines some of Thor’s golden hair between his fingers idly, “Let you lay down your worries, if for a moment…...”

 

Loki’s fingertips travel upwards to caress the crown Thor is wearing. It’s not his ceremonial one, but his everyday circlet, embellished with a lovely deep ruby in the centre. Although it’s simple, the workmanship is superb. How grand it would look upon his own head….

 

Then, as if acting on impulse, Loki plucks the crown off Thor’s head and places it on his own. The thing is heavier than Loki expects, but he immediately decides he _likes it._

 

“Now I am queen,” Loki declares, but makes sure to lace his words with a touch of playfulness to make it obvious that he is jesting. The last thing Loki wants to do is provoke the king’s temper. It’s just a bit of fun, meant only to distract. Surely Thor can see that…..

 

Now, for all that Thor insists upon propriety when they are in public, Loki knows there’s certain amount of wiggle-room to allow for a bit of banter when they are alone together. Thor appreciates wit, and he likes being entertained. To keep his interest requires that Loki be, well, _interesting._ Being a servile, quiet little mouse of a slave would only get him by for so long.

 

Anyone can be _pretty._ But only Loki can be Loki.  

 

Thor only stares back at him, unblinking, and for a brief, awful moment Loki thinks he’s made a terrible mistake. 

 

“Is that so?” Thor asks at length. 

 

“Yes,” Loki confirms, gaining confidence at the lack of anger on his features. “Now the business of rulership, with all its trials and tribulations, falls upon me….”

 

The corners of Thor’s lips twitch into a ghost of an amused smile. “You mean to rule, then.”

 

Loki grins coquettishly; he does relish Thor’s little indulgent moods. Loki tilts his chin up, like the aristocratic brat he knows, deep down, he is.

 

“I will have the Realms at my feet, and all will fear and respect me.”

 

“Big words, for one so small,” Thor clicks his tongue, and Loki can’t help but inwardly bristle at his patronizing tone. If only Thor knew the power that dwells in Loki’s fingertips, he would not be so quick to scoff.

 

“I may be small,” Loki concedes, “But pound for pound, you would not find a warrior in all your legions with more ferocity and fearlessness than me.”

 

It feels good to say it, to Thor’s face no less, even if Thor believes him to be jesting.

 

“Oh, I have little doubt of that,” Thor’s eyes crinkle at the corners, “Nor one as graceful and lovely.”

 

“If you think me too beautiful to be cruel, you would be mistaken.” Loki says, his eyes glimmering with malice. “I would not hesitate to do what is necessary to keep hold of power. Neither compassion nor pity would move me. And if they find me cruel for it,” Loki shrugs, “Then so be it.”

 

“A Queen of Ice,” Thor smirks, amusement now writ plain upon his face. “But I must warn you, little one, such brutality is not without consequence. The Realms would not tolerate a despot. Pray, what will you do when your enemies rise up in rebellion against you?”

 

Loki frowns inwardly. _Little one,_ indeed. Size means nothing in the face of pure, unbridled magic. At times like these, Loki regrets how vehemently he’d belittled his own power. One day Thor might regret speaking to him so condescendingly. One day, perhaps, Thor might look upon him with the respect and awe befitting a sorcerer of Loki’s calibre.

 

But because Loki can’t reply as he’d like, he widens his eyes and pitches his voice high and sweet, the picture of pure youthful innocence.

 

 “Then,” he says, “I will _crush them_.”

 

Thor laughs then, bright and incredulous, rumbling under Loki’s thighs. It’s a low, raspy sound, warm and - dare he think it - _fond._ Loki decides he likes it. He likes making Thor laugh in earnest, even if it’s at his own expense. Thor is in a better mood already, Loki can tell, and Loki is rather pleased that he’d managed to lift the king’s spirits without even having to spread his legs.

 

“Woe betide anyone who crosses you, pet!” Thor says, his hand skimming up Loki’s thigh. “A queen’s traditional role is to broker peace. To intercede on her subjects’ behalf, to plead for mercy. And here you are, warmongering like a tyrant!”

 

Loki tilts his head. “Would I be, in any regard, a _traditional_ queen?”

 

Thor returns Loki’s grin with a lazy one of his own. He’s so relaxed under Loki’s thighs, so placid, _tamed,_ Loki can’t resist pushing the fantasy a little further…. 

 

 “And if I am queen,” Loki muses, “Then that would make you _my_ slave…...”

 

The mood of the room instantly shifts, a tense silence falling between them. Thor stills, his smile fading into a stony, unreadable expression.

 

Helblindi always called him impulsive, and perhaps Loki is. It’s what got him into trouble in the first place. Impulsivity and Pride: Loki’s twin vices. What a poor slave he makes!  He’s simply not _suited_ to a life of servitude. Loki marvels that he’d lasted so long in Asgard without getting his head lopped off.

 

An apology is just beginning to form on the tip of Loki’s tongue when Thor wets his lip, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

 

“What would my Queen ask of me?”

 

Now it’s Loki’s turn to blink back his surprise. In truth, he hadn’t expected Thor to be so amenable to their little roleplay, and he isn’t quite sure what his next move should be. Loki is playing with fire and he knows it, but he can’t help but wonder how far he could take this. Loki is overcome by greediness. He wants _so much._ Too much: riches, luxury, power, _freedom._ But Loki’s not stupid. He knows it would be pointless to make such demands right now. As with Thor’s kiss, these things will come in time.

 

So for now, Loki will ask for something Thor doesn’t even know he wants to give.

 

“I want to lay you down, slave,” Loki says lowly, carefully, thumbing over Thor’s plush lower lip, “And let me ride you until I take my fill of pleasure.”

 

Thor’s eyes go dark, his nostrils flaring once, twice. Then, in one swift motion, Thor grasps Loki underneath his thighs and hefts them both off the couch. Loki has to throw his arms around Thor’s shoulders and lock his legs around Thor’s waist to keep himself upright, but luckily manages to swallow down his surprised squeak.

 

“Bedroom,” Loki says, swallowing down the shakiness in his voice. “Bedroom, now.”

 

To Loki’s amazement, Thor _obeys_ , and hauls him towards the Imperial bedroom, eagerly nipping at Loki’s neck all the while. This in itself is something of a great personal victory: Loki hadn’t entered the Imperial bedroom since the last time he was with Odin, and he’d been somewhat miffed by the fact that thus far, Thor had elected to fuck him everywhere _but_ in his proper bed.

Well, not _this time._

 

Although he can tell it’s been renovated to suit Thor’s taste, Loki is far too distracted by the task at hand to take a proper look around. Thor’s hands are hot under his thighs, his lips insistent at Loki’s collarbone. He’s much more eager for this than Loki could have ever anticipated, and Loki thrills in his enthusiasm. Loki is sure no one has ever done this to him before; no one would have _dared._ But at the same time, Loki knows he must play this exactly right. For this to work, Loki must be as in control as possible, without actually overstepping his bounds. A fine line, indeed.

 

Loki wriggles to be set down, which Thor does with great reluctance. Loki takes a few steps back to compose himself before issuing his next order.

 

“Undress,” Loki says, with as much confidence as he can muster. Given the circumstances, Loki thinks he’s doing a fine job of keeping his composure. It’s surprisingly difficult not to tack _master_ or _majesty_ onto everything he says, especially given the way Thor is looking at him now.

 

Thor simply stands there, the square of his shoulders predatory, his eyes black with lust and his fingers twitching at his sides. He looks like he wants to lunge at Loki and take him right there on the marble floor. But Loki is Queen right now, and he’s not about to let that happen if he can help it.

 

“Undress,” Loki repeats, although his voice is somewhat less sure this time. At length, Thor obeys, and slowly begins to unclasp his armor. His undershirt comes off next - almost ripped apart in Thor’s haste - then his belt and vambraces. Thor kicks off his boots, and finally reaches for the drawstring of his trousers. Loki can already tell from the outline in the fabric that he’s hard, and when Thor steps out of his pants, Loki isn’t disappointed.

 

And what a magnificent specimen Thor is. Broad and tall, gilded and muscled, he truly would make a perfect stud slave, ideal for siring strong healthy children. Loki, embarrassingly, slickens at the thought. This certainly wasn’t what he was expecting when he was first sent on this mission, but damn if fortune hasn’t smiled upon him in at least this small way. Loki runs his hands over Thor’s chest reverently, thumbing over a nipple, making Thor emit that growling noise again. Knowing he oughtn’t keep the King waiting any longer, Loki reaches lower to take Thor’s cock into his fist.

 

“The slavers told me you’d be big,” Loki breathes, beginning to get into it now. He looks up at Thor through his eyelashes. “And as hard as steel.”

 

Thor’s jaw clenches like he wants to say something -  a warning perhaps, or some threat. But whatever it is dies on his lips when Loki gives him a tentative stroke.

 

“You little demon,” Thor murmurs.

 

Loki smirks, but isn’t quite ready to let Thor derail his fantasy just yet. It’s exhilarating to have him like this, The Great King of Asgard, fucking helplessly into Loki’s fist like an inexperienced teenage boy. Power is not always allocated on the sand of battlefield, or on the marble floor of the council chamber. Sometimes, the greatest power of all is found upon silk sheets.

 

Loki gives Thor a few firmer strokes.

 

“They said you rut like a bull.” he goes on sinfully.

 

At this, Thor groans, his muscles convulsing under his skin, and. Loki senses he’s about at the end of his tether. Best to move forwards with the proceedings, else Loki could find himself bent over the bed rather than on top of it.

 

 “Undress me,” Loki says. His voice is softer this time, and Thor responds in kind, tugging Loki’s shift up over his head with more gentleness than when he’d undressed himself. Loki shimmies out of his underthings next, but elects to keep on his jewelry. The crown still sits perched upon his head, a heavy yet pleasurable weight. Loki is not ready to part with it just yet. Gently, Loki pushes Thor backwards onto the bed, and Thor lays back slowly, keeping his eyes ever fixated on Loki. His cock lays on his stomach, thick and heavy and demanding attention. Loki swallows hard at the sight of it. 

 

Loki climbs up on Thor and settles on his thighs. He’s nervous; Thor is tense underneath him, impatient, and Loki knows there’s probably nothing he wants more than to drag Loki down on his cock and really start fucking. His restraint is impressive given that for the last few weeks, Loki’s found himself being grabbed roughly and bent over more times than he can count.

 

Loki takes Thor’s hands and guides them up over his head. He squeezes around Thor’s wrists to let him know to keep them there.

 

“This is about my pleasure,” Loki says hotly into Thor’s ear, although it really isn’t. But even so, that doesn’t mean Loki doesn't intend on fully enjoying the ride. When he releases Thor’s wrists, Thor does not move them, so Loki takes the opportunity to run his hands down Thor’s chest a second time. The warm, solid muscle feels good under Loki’s palms.

 

Loki knows he can’t drag this out much longer, so without more ado he takes Thor’s cock in hand and guides it to his vaginal entrance. Loki sinks down slowly, taking Thor inch by inch, his eyes fluttering closed at the sensation of being filled so thoroughly. Loki’s not sure he’ll ever become accustomed to Thor’s size. Every time, it’s like he’s stretching out his insides anew, carving a place for himself inside Loki’s body. Now, at least, Loki has some time to adjust before they start fucking in earnest. Maybe not more than a moment or two, but still.

 

Thor makes the most satisfying guttural groan when Loki bottoms out, his hands clenching above his head. He’s breathing hard, and Loki knows it must be a struggle for him to hold himself back. His hips buck slightly in a vain attempt for stimulation.

 

“Move,” Thor croaks, more a plea than an order, so Loki does not chide him for it. Loki begins gently, rocking up then down again, his hands on Thor’s chest for balance. Thor is looking up at him with hooded, blackened eyes, and Loki feels himself blush. He closes his eyes and tries a more sensual roll of his hips, clenching down on Thor’s cock as he does so. Thor groans and bucks upwards, although there’s not much he can do with his hands above his head.

 

And because Thor has not forbidden it, Loki reaches down to palm at himself, selfishly chasing his own pleasure. He’s hard by now, _and_ wet, _and_ he’s sure Thor must think him the most wanton whore in all of Asgard. He fucks himself on Thor more vigorously now, the way he knows Thor likes, until his thighs begin to burn with the strain. He slows suddenly and Thor growls in frustration.

 

“Loki…” Thor warns.

 

“I just wish to look at you a moment,” Loki says breathlessly, reaching over to cup Thor’s face. He traces his fingers down Thor’s cheek, then reaches down to grip Thor by the throat. Loki squeezes slightly and feels Thor swallow under his palm. “Yes, you will fill my belly with strong, handsome children, won’t you?”

,

At that, Thor’s hands fly down to grip Loki’s hips, so tight Loki’s sure he’ll leave bruises. Loki lets out a surprised noise, but he decides to allow Thor’s defiance, for it truly seems like Thor is on the verge of having an aneurysm.

 

“ _Move, Loki,”_ he growls, “All my kingdom if you just _move.”_

 

Loki really has no choice in the matter, because Thor is now forcing Loki’s hips into a punishing rhythm, and Loki has little choice but to accept it.

 

“Ah,” Loki squeezes his eyes shut as pleasure shoots up his spine. It hurts but it also feels _wonderful_ \- deeply fulfilling in the way his own fingers never were. Thor’s cock fills him so completely, so utterly, that Loki can hardly believe he’d once only ever had orgasms from outer stimulation alone.

 

Loki comes with a sob, spurting on Thor’s abdomen and clenching down on Thor’s cock. He convulses with pleasure, stars exploding in his eyes, and a fresh sluice of wetness gushes down his thighs.

 

This, it seems, is what makes Thor finally snap. With a roar, Thor surges forward and reverses their positions, upturning Loki so that he’s the one on his back. Loki’s crown slips off and clatters to the floor beside the bed, but Thor doesn’t even seem to notice. He fucks Loki into the mattress with hard, violent thrusts that rock Loki forward several inches each time. Loki whimpers, overstimulated, but he’s otherwise too limp and weak to do anything but lie there and take it. As ever, Thor is too heavy, too rough, and Loki struggles even to breathe, but if he could, he might even laugh - Thor really does rut like a bull.

 

When Thor comes Loki swears he hears thunder. Thor squeezes him tight to keep him in place, and freezes, his cock embedded deep in Loki’s cunt, where he spills in a great, warm gush. Thor gives a few more weak, half-hearted thrusts before collapsing completely, panting hotly into Loki’s neck, still save for his heavy breathing. Into Loki’s shoulder Thor begins to chuckle, low and raspy, the sound soon building to an outright laugh. And because they’re pressed belly to belly, Loki feels it reverberate against his stomach. If Loki weren’t so utterly ruined, he might’ve demanded what the hell is so funny.  

 

“You’re mad, you know that? Hmmm?” Thor chuckles into Loki’s ear, warm and fond. He pulls back to look down at Loki, grinning at him like an idiot. His hair is a frizzy halo of gold around his head.

 

“So you have told me,” Loki answers, and Thor laughs again. He ducks his head down and Loki _swears_ he’s about to be kissed - the thought alone makes Loki’s heart flutter in excitement. Loki tilts his head up obligingly to receive it, but instead, Thor nuzzles his nose against Loki’s like an affectionate puppy. Not quite a kiss, but an approximation of one.

 

“So I have,” Thor murmurs, and flops down on his back at Loki’s side, making Loki immediately regret the loss of contact. Loki cuddles up close to the King in his great imperial bed, the first time they’d fucked like a proper couple. Thor looks dopey and placated, his skin glistening with sweat, his cheeks ruddy. Thor is a mess, just as Loki knows he’s a mess. They lie there, entangled in each other, until exhaustion begins to set in.

 

“That wasn’t…” Thor says, filling the silence, “very queenly behaviour.”

 

“And I am no _traditional_ queen.” Loki replies, and the King, to Loki’s satisfaction, laughs.

 

 

***

***

***

 

 

It is with great interest that Thor looks down from his throne, surveying the crowd of courtiers and delegates who have amassed to witness this performance. Their faces are curious,  suspicious even, but overall the mood is light and not overly tense. Thor, too, is keen to see what Loki has prepared. In fact, this is the _only_ thing Thor’s been looking forward to about this evening. Dinner with the Jotun Ambassador had been cordial - not terribly unpleasant - but it’s not as though Thor had been _enjoying_ himself. Keeping company with the Ambassador is not exactly Thor’s idea of a good time. Many centuries have passed since there had been a Jotun Ambassador in Asgard, and Thor does not blame either side for looking upon the other with mistrust. There is a tenuous peace between their realms, and while Thor does not want to exacerbate already strained diplomatic relations, he also wants to make it clear to the Jotuns that he’s still the Overlord of all the Realms. So long as the Casket of Ancient Winters is in Asgardian hands, the Jotunns are impotent, and if they think they will get it back by plying Thor with mediocre tribute, they will find themselves sorely mistaken. 

 

The centre of the floor is empty and Loki is nowhere to be seen. But[ the music begins](http://8tracks.com/terezbellydance/scorched-mizmar) regardless, a dark, thrumming, ominous sound that makes Thor feel ill at ease. The sound intensifies, building and building, until a drum sounds, and Loki appears in a flash of magic.

 

They’ve marked him with henna tattoos: slim, reddish lines that criss-cross his body, mimicking the raised tracks most Jotuns sport on their skin. There’s also red warpaint slathered across his eyes, and his hair is pinned back under a headdress of gold and feathers. He looks…..very Jotunn-like, although his skin is as pale and smooth as ever. Thor wonders, fleetingly, what Loki must have looked like before he was blanched. It’s hard to imagine him as being….well, blue. He must have been blue once, surely? Thor can hardly believe such a delicate creature is of the same race as the hulking Jotunn who sits next to him.

 

The drummers beat out an odd, uneven sounding rhythm, and a man begins to sing in a language Thor doesn’t understand. There is a rawness to Loki’s Jotun dancing, an earthen sensuality that wasn’t quite as salient in his coronation performance. Loki crouches low to the ground, almost predatorily, whipping his hair in that brazen manner of his and rolling his hips. It’s exotic and tribal, even _animalistic_ , and Thor - ever the sucker for novelty - _likes_ it. And Thor’s not the only one: Loki has the entire court enthralled. Loki always has his audience eating out of his hand.

 

The drum beat changes, faster now, and Loki keeps pace, twirling and flipping backwards over his head. He completes a tumbling pass that has the crowd gasping, gaining speed with the accelerating rhythm of the music. The drum beat is heavy, and the man sings like he’s chanting some ancient spell. It builds and builds and Loki spins, stopping abruptly at the exact moment the music does. Usually Loki likes to end his dances with a dramatic drop to the ground, but this time, he remains standing, tall and proud and completely still. The effect is….powerful, to say the least. The crowd erupts into wild applause, their previous apprehension withering in the face of such marvellous spectacle.

 

“So it is true,” The Ambassador says, clapping his mighty hands. “Great King Thor has found himself a Jotunn runt.”

 

Thor grins, pleased beyond measure. He beckons Loki closer to the throne, and Loki obeys, climbing up the dias to stand before the King and the Ambassador, rolling his hips with every step.

 

“Majesty,” he greets, kneeling to the floor at Thor’s feet. As something of a compromise, Thor allows Loki to kiss the inside of his palm, but because this is a state event, he does not let him sit in his lap the way Thor would have preferred.

 

“Wonderful my sweet,” Thor says, beaming. “A most impressive performance, as ever. I have never seen anything like it.”

 

“Truly masterful,” The Jotunn adds. “I must say I had been skeptical of your talent, but you have truly exceeded my every expectation. Your skill rivals that of any dancer trained by the great master Angrboda. Come, let me see you.”

 

Loki looks up. The red paint around his eyes gives him a feral appearance, but his face is otherwise neutral and expressionless.

 

“My my,” Helblindi breaths, his lips curling in a smile. “Laufey-King himself has many runtling lovers in his harem, although none are as lovely or as gifted as this. What is your name, little one?”

 

“Loki, my lord.” Loki answers.

 

“Loki!” the massive Jotun exclaims, “A fine name for a very fine dancer.” Helblindi turns back to Thor, “Pray, how did you acquire him?”

 

“He was my father’s,” Thor explains, a hint of pride in his voice, “A gift from a Vanir Lord, so I’ve heard. But beyond that I know not.”

 

“The runtlings do have an unfortunate tendency to wind up in slavery,” Helblindi says, nodding his head gravely. “Their beauty and grace works against them in this regard.”

 

Thor frowns. It sounds so _flippant_ like that. So inevitable.

 

“They are much sought after in Jotunheim. Many enter bondage as spoils of war, or as reparations to settle blood feuds and debts. Others are forced into concubinage to create alliances between families.They are said to make excellent lovers and companions. You are very fortunate to have obtained one.”

 

Thor cocks his head to catch Loki’s eye, but Loki’s gaze is set firmly on the floor. He’s sitting so still, Thor wonders if he’s cowed by the Jotun Ambassador’s presence. What happened to the little spitfire Thor has been taking into his bed?

 

“And you, Loki?” Thor asks, softening his voice so as not to intimidate Loki further. “How did you come into servitude?”

 

Loki seems to ponder this question a moment, although his face betrays nothing. His lack of reaction is unnerving.

 

 “My brother sold me into slavery,” Loki says tonelessly, then falls silent once again.

 

“How very tragic,” Ambassador Helblindi says, nodding his head in sympathy. “Sadly, not an uncommon occurrence for one of your kind. But look where you are now, hmm? You were meant to be bed by a king, weren’t you, little one. I’m sure Laufey-King would have snatched you up too if he had had the chance.”

 

Thor sits, tense, and takes another sip of wine. He’s unsure of what to make of this new information, and is rather horrified at the blasé manner in which Loki had related it. _His own brother._ Gods above, these Jotnar are more barbaric than Thor thought. Familial bonds are _sacred_. Have they no sense of honour?

 

“Yes indeed,” Helblindi goes on thoughtfully, his eyes now skimming over Loki in a way Thor doesn’t quite like. “And locked away in chastity for good measure.”

 

Thor perks up in curiosity at this, so Helblindi clarifies.

 

“Chastity, Great King; a spiked, locked belt to ensure a runt’s fidelity. The fertile ones are simply too enticing for their own good, and many fall into temptation when they are heated. Some say it is a cruel practice, but then again, is there anything more despicable than to cuckold a King? This one,” Helblindi looks down at Loki, “Does not appear to be of age yet, so I would not be concerned; but when his time comes, it is something Your Majesty might want to consider.”

 

Thor sits back in his throne and takes another sip of wine. He looks down at Loki again, and finds that Loki has yet to move a single inch. It’s disconcerting, to say the least.

 

“If I may be so bold,” Helblindi goes on, “Within your tribute Laufey-king has included many  garments of pleated spider-silk - the most delicate, finely crafted material in all of Jotunheim - and it seems to me that your runtling would wear them well…..”

 

Thor thinks he remembers seeing something like that among his tribute….although in truth, Thor’s interest had been drawn more towards the ceremonial suit of walrus-ivory armor. In the last few weeks, Thor has received so many marvellous gifts from across the realms, it is hard to keep track.

 

“Aye….I think I would like to see him so attired. I thank you, Ambassador, for your generosity. Please convey my gratitude to your master.”

 

The Jotun nods in acknowledgement and raises his glass. They toast to peace, and drink to a bright, prosperous future.

 

Loki comes to Thor later that night, the red warpaint washed from his face and his hair loose, although the henna tattoos still linger on his skin. He dons a [simple](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/d2/8d/58/d28d58a0c2bad7a516c40aa900815e82.jpg) [robe](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/e5/27/6a/e5276a4195d8d5b0b010db7d039b5eec.jpg) [of ](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/43/4e/2c/434e2c4259e118fef02e54c2cc276977.jpg) [pleated](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/40/eb/a7/40eba79cd471836dbbf26ec8a61d604e.jpg) [spider](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/08/dd/62/08dd62ebd7cbe5b2a10e119e6118a629.jpg) [silk](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/48/db/bf/48dbbfca5e10c3d6eb0755612cac593d.jpg) and Thor mentally thanks Helblindi for his suggestion. The fabric clings to Loki’s trim figure like a second skin, igniting Thor’s lust anew. It’s almost as though the garment was made for him.

 

Thor is unsure of how to address the revelation of Loki’s origins, so instead he takes Loki in his arms and fucks him sweetly, and afterwards, lets him sleep in his arms through the night. Perhaps that is enough to convey all that Thor wishes he could say.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> are we ready for more hurty feels now?
> 
> The dresses I linked to are all Delphos gowns by Mariano Fortuny. Nobody really knows how he pleated the silk like that.
> 
> Feedback is always lovely! xoxo


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh, sorry for the delay.  
> My excuse is that I suck. 
> 
> My apologies for any errors. It's three a.m. and I'm just SO DONE with this chapter. SO DONE. It had to go up now.  
> Thank you to everyone who has kept me motivated these last few months, especially dangereuse and buckeroo <3  
> (It's okay to blame dangereuse for everything)
> 
> Enjoy!!

 “I suppose you thought that was very funny,” Loki says aloud, without looking up. “Chastity belts, indeed.”

 

Loki is sitting in the window seat, curled up with a cupful of tea and a good book. Most days, he has many hours to kill while he waits for Thor to finish his official duties. It used to drive him mad with boredom, sitting around as idle as a housecat, but his days have become much less tedious now that Thor has allowed him to make visits to the royal library.

 

And here he’d hoped to have a nice, relaxing, peaceful afternoon. _Alone._ Sigh.

 

The bird cocks its head.

 

“I would have advised Laufey as such, yes,” The bird replies, more telepathically than anything, “For you, my brother, are of a lusty nature, and I shudder to think how wanton you will become once you are heated.”

 

Loki rolls his eyes and sets his book down. “I’m beginning to think you harbour a secret, incestuous desire for me, given how much you obsess over what is between my legs.”

 

“I am your guardian _._ ”

 

 “And a fine job you are doing, too.”

 

“Which is why,”  the bird goes on, as if he hadn’t heard Loki, “I have come to check on you.”

 

“Little need,” Loki says airily, picking at a cuticle. “I am doing well enough on my own, _without_ your help. The king is besotted with me.”

 

“ _Besotted_ ,” Helblindi-bird quirks what would’ve been his eyebrow, if a bird really had one. “He didn’t even bind you for that little disappearing trick of yours.”

 

Loki shrugs. “Thor had knowledge of my magical craft before the coronation ceremony. It is not the practise of magic that seems to have disturbed him, but the fact that I’d kept it a secret. I have my made my magic…..useful to him.”

 

Helblindi’s bird-face makes no expression, but Loki knows he’s amused at the insinuation. It grates at Loki to reveal something so private to his brother, and more than a little humiliating.

 

“He did not punish you for it?”

 

“Only to a night in the Underground, which is where I’ll spend the rest of my days if I am discovered to be talking to you, so I’d appreciate you ceasing your blabbering and get on with whatever you came here to tell me.”

 

“I was appointed to Asgard to help you,” Helblindi says, “But I cannot hold this form for long.”

 

“You should not be here at all,” Loki says flatly.

 

“Then I will be brief.” Helblindi says, fluffing his feathers. “Laufey is getting impatient. He thinks you are not being as industrious as you could be.”

 

Loki bristles, whipping his head up to face the bird, although he’s careful to keep his voice down. “Have you not seen for yourself how far I’ve come? How much the king favors me? He _hated_ me when Odin fell into sleep. He would have sent me to some backwater brothel out of spite if he hadn’t so badly wanted to fuck me himself. It wasn’t my fault that Odin fell into sleep when he did! I need time, damn you! These things take _time!_ ”

 

“Time is something we do not have,” Helblindi counters. “Jotunheim is ever fading. If we do not acquire the Casket soon, I fear she will wither away completely.”

 

 _How tragic,_ Loki thinks.

 

“You must be proactive,” Helblindi goes on. “Being the king’s favourite grants you access to his inner chambers. If you cannot pry his secrets from him, perhaps a more…..forthright approach is warranted. ”

 

“Yes, a brilliant idea. I shall just waltz into Thor’s private office, put my feet up, and leisurely read my fill of state documents.”

 

Helblindi-bird narrows his eyes. “Why don’t you?”  


“There are magic wards everywhere,” Loki snaps. “You think I haven’t tried? The Hall of Records is impenetrable; I would be discovered in an instant if I were to attempt such a vain and foolish thing. No. That is not the way.” Loki clenches his jaw in determination.  “Thor will slip, once he comes to trust me. He will _offer_ his secrets to me. _Freely._ Like the fool I know him to be.”

 

Helblindi cocks his head, skeptical. “You really think he’d tell his secrets to a slave.”

 

Loki truly hates the ways he says it. So full of _disdain_ , as if he had no hand in crafting Loki's current predicament.

 

“I am his confidante, his companion. I am no mere _slave_ to him.” Loki tilts his head up.  “And I do not serve him like one. "

 

The bird nods, although is still rather obviously unconvinced. “Well, if you think you are so capable. But be quick about it, _silvertongue,_ before he tires of you. You know how his eye strays.”

 

An uncomfortable pang hits Loki in the chest. He isn’t sure why he feels the need to defend his relationship with Thor so vehemently, but the words spill out in a jumble nonetheless. “He hasn’t. Not since - since his coronation. It’s only been me.”

 

Helblindi laughs, airy. “Is that what you believe?”

 

“I know it to be true.” Loki says forcefully. “I am his only lover.”

 

“You are with him all day?” Helblindi presses, his voice mocking. “Does he take you to bed each night? How can you be sure?” The bird shakes his head condescendingly. “Oh, my brother. My beautiful, stupid brother. I am merely trying to drive home the pressing nature of the task at hand. The king has a harem-full of beautiful women. You are indeed his favourite, I have no doubt about that, but his favour is fleeting. Make it count, while you can.”

 

“Time, brother,” Loki says irritably. “I will make him love me, and I will uncover everything you wish to know.”

 

“See that you do.” Helblindi says. “Your freedom depends on it.”

 

***

 

***

 

***

 

Sif is grinning over her cards, and Thor knows, at this point, she can’t be bluffing. The stakes are too high, and Sif’s smile is a little too broad and too….. _unsettling._ Sif is not usually a risk-taker when she gambles, but then again, Sif is cunning. Maybe her hand is rubbish. All Thor knows is that he can’t possibly fold now. It’s a matter of _principle._

 

“Oh, I’m in,” Sif says, grinning malevolently over her cards. Usually when she smiles like that, some poor creature is about to meet a terrible demise. Today, it seems, that creature is Thor.

“You?”

 

“Till the bitter end,” Thor declares, always spurred on by a good challenge. “What’s your wager?”

 

“Why not make it interesting?” Sif says, like Thor hasn’t got his best horse and over a thousand gold coin riding on this. Fandral and Volstagg exchange wary glances, clearly relieved that they’d folded long ago.  


“If you think I’d risk my heirloom battleaxe you are dreaming.”

 

“No, this is better,” Sif says, her smile now splitting her face. “If I lose,” Sif begins slowly, “I vow to wear that gown your grandmother made for me to my birthday party.”

 

“The orange one?” Thor says incredulously, “With the -”  


“Puffed sleeves and green trim.” Sif says. “You remember.”

 

Thor smirks. Does he _ever._ He almost turned purple holding in his laughter when Sif had received it a few birthdays past. Her having to graciously thank his grandmother for it was even funnier.

 

“I’m sure you’d enjoy seeing me don it, and on my own birthday nonetheless.”

 

Thor grins back at her. There’s no question that he would. Perhaps _too_ much.

 

“The entire evening?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“And repel all potential suitors,” Volstagg adds, earning him a punch to the shoulder from Sif.

 

“A welcome reprieve indeed!”  She laughs. “At last, a night of peace.”

 

Thor chuckles, but in truth Sif’s confidence has only kindled in him a flicker of concern: her willingness to place this bet is making him doubt his odds. “And what would you have of me in return?”

 

“If I win,” Sif turns back to Thor. “I want you to dance the Quicktrot at my party.”

 

Fandral and Volstagg make an ominous _oooooooo_ sound.

 

“I don’t dance,” Thor says with a stubborn grunt.

 

“And I don’t wear horrid orange taffeta gowns,”  Sif counters, undaunted by Thor’s sour reaction. “That’s the point of a wager. So are you in or not?”

 

His friends look to him expectantly, their eyes wide with anticipation. Thor feels something like a trapped animal, backed into a corner with no means of escape. Sif has always wanted Thor to learn to dance, and as much as he wants to refuse this wager, it _is_ her birthday, Thor knows it would mean a lot to her if he were to accept.

 

“Aye,” Thor says with a defeated sigh. “I’m in.”

 

“Lay down your cards,” Sif says, and Thor does.

 

Four damn Queens. Thor isn’t even surprised.

 

Sif’s face erupts into a gleeful laugh. “Ready your dancing shoes, my friend. I’ll expect several turns out of you that night. Perhaps you can practise while I am taking your beloved Gullfaxi out for a ride?”

 

Thor groans. He’d almost forgotten he’d bet his horse too. “I can’t dance.”

 

Sif’s face is so bright and pleased that Thor almost forgets to maintain his dour expression. She knows Thor well enough to know that he’d never go back on his word. “Good! You’ll finally have some motivation to learn.”

 

Fandral turns to Thor and pats his back warmly. “Fear not, my friend. I shall help you.”

 

“You are _not_ teaching me to dance a Quicktrot.” Thor says.

 

“And pray, is there anyone else you could trust with this task? I am the most proficient dancer of all the lords at court.” Fandral waggles his eyebrows, “Ask any of their ladies.”

 

Thor rolls his eyes. “I’ll find someone.”

 

***

 

“This is ridiculous,” Thor mutters, his one hand on Fandral’s hip, the other holding his hand. His face is already cherry red with embarrassment, and they’ve hardly started their lesson yet. Thor isn’t sure how he let Fandral talk him into this. If even one of those musicians lets out so much as a _snigger_ Thor will cut their fingers off.

 

“Shouldn’t I be practising with an actual dance instructor?”

           

Fandral looks appalled. “And spoil my fun?”

 

“”This isn’t exactly what I pictured in my head when you said you were going to teach me.”

 

“What? Am I not - ” Fandral makes a kissy face, “- pretty enough a dance partner?”

 

Thor gives him a playful shove and Fandral grins.

 

“I am only trying to help you. Or do you wish to trip over your own feet, go careening into the dessert table? That would be just as amusing for Sif, I am sure. I’m just trying to spare you the humiliation.”

 

“You -” Thor points a finger at Fandral’s chest, “Might be worse than I am.”

 

Fandral makes a mock-offended face. “And you, my friend, are simply an impossible student. It’s not my fault your feet are as heavy as Mjolnir.”

 

Thor tilts his head up. “I’m a warrior.”

 

“So am I. So is Sif. Now put your hand on my hip. From the top -”

 

“I am not doing this!” Thor exclaims, extricating his hand from Fandral’s. “You insist on leading. _I_ am leading. I’m the King of Asgard!”

 

“King of Asgard? You don’t say.”

 

Thor shoots him a look, and Fandral chuckles.

 

“I _was_ teaching you to lead.”

 

“You started by letting me lead and you switched halfway through!”

 

“No!” Fandral says defensively. He pauses, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “Wait. Maybe.”

 

Thor throws his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into this. Why I let _Sif_ talk me into this. All I wanted was to spend the evening drinking my fill. In _peace._ And instead I let myself be subjected to this nonsense - ”

 

 “Maybe we’re approaching this the wrong way.” Fandral strokes his prim little beard in consideration. “It’s not that I _can’t_ teach you, it’s just that I can’t do it while partnering you. What we need,” Fandral pauses, no doubt for dramatic effect, “Is backup.”

 

“Excellent. Expose my humiliation to yet more parties.”

 

Fandral crosses his arms in front of his chest. “You wish to let Sif down? Renege on your word?”

 

Thor grunts. No, he does not want to do either of those things. There isn’t much he wouldn’t do for Sif.

 

Thor sighs.  “Well, what do you suggest?”

 

 

***

 

“Right,” Fandral says, positioning Loki just so. Thor’s hand feels clammy on Loki’s hip and he doesn’t know why.

 

“This is ridiculous,” Thor mutters.

 

“Now, now,” Fandral says, so bright and chipper Thor’s jaw clenches. “Loki was kind enough to come and help us, the least we can do is be amiable.”

 

“I can think of no worse punishment,” Thor says sourly.

 

Fandral turns to Loki. “You don’t mind, do you?”

 

“Not at all, my lords,” Loki responds, smiling shyly. “It is my pleasure to be of service.”

 

“See? He loves it. Now. Put your hand here -” Fandral adjusts Thor’s hand accordingly. “On the small of his back. He’ll hold your shoulder. Like this.”

 

Thor swallows nervously. This is so _, so stupid_ and he doesn’t know why he doesn’t just send for a proper dance instructor and a chorus girl. 

 

“You have to hold him closer than _that,_ come on.” Fandral squeezes them together, so that they’re almost chest to chest. “He’s not your _brother_.”

 

Thor’s face might be getting redder. “That isn’t how we did it before. We didn’t stand so close.”

 

Fandral makes a face like this is the most absurd proposition he’d ever heard. “And have you fall madly in lust with me? You have trouble enough focusing as it is.”

 

“This is ridiculous,” Thor repeats under his breath, but does as instructed nonetheless.

 

“Alright, from the top.” Fandral claps his hands to get the musicians’ attention, undeterred as ever by Thor’s pissy mood. “Remember, this is a five-four rhythm you must hold the second count. Otherwise you’ll lose your step. The two counts for two beats. One, Two-oo, three four. One, two-oo three four. See? Then it’s little different from a Volta.”

 

 “Oh, that makes it so much clearer,” Thor says dryly.

 

 “Just get your bearings and we can elaborate on the footwork later. One two-oo three four _._ Don’t worry about Loki, he’ll follow your lead. _O King of Asgard_.”

 

Thor narrows his eyes at Fandral, but softens when he turns his attention back to Loki. Loki smiles encouragingly, looking up at him through his eyelashes, and Thor’s irritation is tempered somewhat. Still, doesn’t mean that he has to _like_ this.

 

“And remember to start on the right foot. Ready?”

 

Thor sighs. “I suppose.”

 

The musicians begin and Thor takes his first few shaky steps. He feels cumbersome, like a great hulking cave bear trained to do a circus trick: inelegant and ungainly. Thor stops and starts so many times, jerking Loki around like a ragdoll. The count is odd, the steps unfamiliar. Loki follows Thor’s halting, wooden motions as best as he’s able, but he can’t avoid getting trampled by Thor’s wayward feet.

 

“Ah,” Loki winces after Thor accidentally delivers a kick to his shin.

 

Thor’s face goes pinker and he immediately stops, huffing in frustration. “I can’t do this.”

 

“Don’t look at your feet,” Fandral instructs. “Look at Loki.”

 

“I’m stepping all over him!”

 

“Trust me, it’ll be easier if you don’t look at your feet. Look at his face, it’s a much better view. You’re thinking too hard on it. Just let your body move with the beat. And remember: _alternate_ your steps. You keep beginning with your right foot; that’s where you keep getting lost. Alternate. Always.”

 

Thor makes an annoyed muttering noise. He feels so, _so_ ridiculous - not a sentiment he is used to - and he doesn’t like it.

 

“I look like a fool.”

 

“You’re doing much better than before,” Fandral encourages, bypassing Thor’s statement, which only irritates Thor further. The scowl on his face gives Fandral pause.

 

“Once more, friend,” Fandral says, more carefully than before. He clearly senses Thor is moments away from storming off - an apt assumption. “Shall we try not looking at your feet?”  


“I hurt him,” Thor says, gesturing to Loki, half hoping Loki will agree so Thor will have an excuse to adjourn.

 

To Thor’s relief and annoyance, Loki shakes his head. Upon his face is nothing but sweetness.

 

“I am good to continue, Majesty.”

 

Thor grumbles his displeasure, but eventually concedes. It _is_ hard to refuse that face.

 

 “Fine.” he says. “Once more.”

 

The music begins and Thor tries again, attempting to look less at his feet this time. He tries not to think too hard on the movements, for as soon as he becomes too self-aware he loses his step. He’s supremely conscious of Loki’s hand on his shoulder, like a great heavy iron, although in truth Loki can’t be holding him that tightly. Why this bothers him so much, he doesn’t know; he’s already had Loki in every possible manner and position. Loki’s not even disrobed and Thor is flustered.

 

Loki looks up at him suddenly, holding Thor’s gaze with a confidence so few of Thor’s subjects dare exhibit. Thor, unused to prolonged eye contact, briefly loses himself. Loki’s eye colour is unusual, a shade of blueish-green in this light. Like seafoam, or jade. Crystalline like shattered glass.

 

Thor trips over his boots and curses. When he looks up, Loki is grinning at him like he knows what he’s just precipitated. But Thor can’t outright accuse Loki of trying to distract him lest he out himself as having been _lost in Loki’s eyes._ To admit to such a cliché would be excruciating. Sometimes, Thor swears, Loki’s trying to bewitch him.

 

“Oh, norns,” Fandral sighs.  “Allow me.”

 

Fandral saunters towards them and cuts in, approaching Loki and tossing his cape theatrically over his shoulder.

 

“May I have this dance?” Fandral oozes, taking Loki’s hand in his and bowing, the way he does when he’s wooing some maid. “For instructional purposes,” he adds, adopting his normal voice to speak to Thor.

 

Loki glances at Thor briefly, eyebrows high on his face, his hand perched in Fandral’s. Although Thor doesn’t like where this is going, he grudgingly nods his assent. It might indeed help him to actually _see_ what this ridiculous dance looks like when performed correctly.  And if he doesn’t learn it, all this mortification would have been for nothing.

 

Permission thus obtained, Loki turns back to Fandral, and makes a small, polite curtsy. “My lord.”

 

Fandral then takes Loki in his arms, holding him the way Thor had just done, and calls for music. It grates on Thor to admit that yes, Fandral is a superb dancer. Always has been. And in his fashion, Fandral whirls Loki around the floor, covering vast swaths of ground as effortlessly as if they were both gliding on a sheet of ice. Fandral doesn't look at his feet. Rather, he’s looking right into Loki’s face and saying something, although Thor can’t make out what. Loki says something back, a broad smile on his face. It’s like they are all alone in the world, and Thor isn’t even there.

 

The music slows abruptly and Fandral dips Loki, low to the ground, one hand on his back. Loki is evidently delighted, and lets out a surprised squeal of laughter - a sound Thor’s never heard Loki make before. Thor’s simmering blood then starts to boil.

 

“Alright that’s enough,” Thor says, more growl-like than he’d intended. He storms over and rips Loki out of Fandral’s embrace, one hand firmly on Loki’s bicep.

 

“Come now, we were just getting started!” Fandral protests, his voice breathless and airy from the exertion. He’s putting on a false veneer of innocence, but Thor can see a hint of a smirk there, and Thor’s hands involuntarily clench into fists. “I was about to show you how to -”

 

“I said that’s _enough!”_

 

Thor’s booming voice surprises even him. It echoes off the walls and renders the room completely silent. Thor purses his lips, and he knows he must look utterly transparent.

 

“We’re done for today,” he says evenly, gripping Loki tighter.

 

“Yes, of course,” Fandral says with a slight bow of the head. He smiles, an appeasing, conciliatory gesture, but he also looks rattled by the intensity Thor’s response. Fandral knows better than to press when Thor gets in a mood. “Well done today, my lord. A good start.”

 

Thor nods in acknowledgement, but it’s a token gesture, for he’s altogether done with this nonsense. Thor offers no other response, not even a farewell, before he unceremoniously drags Loki away and into his private rooms. He slams the door behind them, making a satisfying _clunk_ noise.

 

Thor expects Loki to be cowed by his temper - this being the sensible reaction - but instead of fear, sees only _amusement_ on Loki’s face. Like this whole thing has been _funny_ to him.

 

“No more lessons with Fandral,” Thor states authoritatively, squaring his shoulders for good measure. He hopes to look appropriately intimidating, but Loki isn’t even fazed.

 

Loki smiles wryly. “Are you…jealous, my lord?”

 

Thor huffs. “I can’t abide show-offs.”

 

Loki’s face lights up in delight. “You _are_ jealous!”

 

“Maybe I am,” Thor growls, disliking Loki’s flippant air. He grabs Loki by the back of the neck and is satisfied when that teasing smile melts off Loki’s face. “I don’t like other men touching my things.”

 

“You know I belong to you,” Loki replies, unafraid, looking up at Thor through his eyelashes. That same look again; Thor is disarmed momentarily before he realizes what Loki is doing. _Bewitching_ him.

 

Loki has the audacity to laugh.

 

“Why would I want anyone else when I already lie in the King of Asgard’s bed?”

 

“Why, indeed.” Thor growls.

 

“I belong to you,” Loki slithers his hand down to cup at Thor’s now-interested cock. “And _this_ belongs to me.”

 

Thor lets out a small rumble in his chest. He had been set on being annoyed, but he supposes he’ll bend to allow this distraction.

 

“Why don’t you sit down, my king, and let me take care of you?”

 

Loki guides Thor down into a nearby armchair and Thor sits, albeit stiffly, still huffy about the whole incident. Loki nudges Thor’s legs open and crouches down between Thor’s thighs, and suddenly Thor has a _very good_ idea of where Loki is going with this. Part of him is offended that Loki would attempt such a transparent move to placate him. Part of him - by far the greater part - couldn’t care less.

 

“You belong to me,” Thor repeats. Even though Loki has been in his possession for some time, saying it aloud still thrills him.

 

Loki’s eyes flick back up at him from where he’d been undoing the laces of Thor’s breeches. “Does it please you when I say so?”

 

“Very much,” Thor agrees, settling into the armchair. He hisses through his teeth when Loki reaches his hand in to draw out his filling cock.

 

Loki smirks, like he knows the effect he has on Thor.

 

“I belong to you,” Loki says again, staring straight up into Thor’s eyes. Then, with one hand, he strokes down Thor’s cock from tip to root, “I belong to you.”

 

Thor sighs in bliss when at last he feels Loki’s hot breath ghost upon the tip of his cock. He tightens his fingers in Loki’s hair and pleasure overtakes him.

 

 

***

 

“I can teach you,” Loki offers, some time later, when he’s helping Thor dress for the evening’s dinner. “We can practise together. If you’d prefer.”

 

Thor cocks an eyebrow. “Had you ever danced a quicktrot before this day?”

 

Loki shakes his head, a small, pleased smirk on his face, and resumes lacing Thor’s ceremonial vambraces.

 

Thor clicks his tongue, impressed. “A quick study.”

 

Loki just shrugs without looking up -  a modest gesture, but there’s more than enough self-satisfaction in his features too. He’s perfectly aware of his own skill.

 

“I’ve seen it before. In Vanaheim. It’s quite popular there.”

 

Loki helps Thor into his armor next, having become quite adept at dressing Thor after having to disrobe him so many times. Thor watches him carefully, his eyes drawn to those pink, swollen lips; lips that had just pleasured him so thoroughly.

 

“You dare to take on such a challenge, from one as graceless as I…....” “Thor prods, just to see how Loki will answer.

 

Loki peeks up, his eyebrow just barely quirked. “Would your Majesty prefer to suffer under Lord Fandral’s tutelage?”

 

Thor scoffs, his nose wrinkling in distaste. “I’ve had more than my fill of his overly-perfumed arse.” He gives Loki’s ass an appreciate thwack. “And not nearly enough of yours.”

 

Loki laughs, breathy. “I will have to take care to sate you before our lessons. Else I fear we shall accomplish nothing.”

 

“Oh, you could never sate me, kitten,” Thor returns.  He takes Loki’s chin and tilts it up with his fingers. When next he speaks, his voice is thoughtful, quiet. “I don’t know that I’ll ever get my fill of you.”

 

At that, Thor falls silent, He’d surprised himself by the confession; it’s unlike him to be so…. _sincere_. Loki merely stares back, eyes wide and unreadable.

 

 At length, Thor clears his throat and releases Loki’s chin. He holds out his arm for Loki to finish his work tying his vambrace laces.

 

“Let me sleep with you tonight.” Loki asks quietly.

 

Thor says nothing; the first time he’d let Loki sleep with him was a mistake; the second and third time too, and the time after that. It is in poor taste for a king to rut his slaves in the grandeur of his own bed; an insult to whoever Thor will take as a queen. Thor has secondary rooms and bedchambers for tysts. Or, failing that, any couch or table would do……

 

“You need to sleep in your own bed,” Thor says, not unkindly.

 

“I don’t like it there,” Loki presses, his mouth set in a stubborn, unhappy line. Softly, he adds, “They all hate me.”

 

Thor sighs. He knows exactly whom Loki is referring - the concubines who’d been cast aside when Thor took Loki as his favourite. Thor has no trouble believing it, either. They can be quite….. _cutthroat_ when slighted.

 

“Not tonight,” Thor says at length, because he hasn’t the heart to say no. Given Loki’s behaviour these last few weeks, Thor prepares himself to have to put his foot down on the matter. Loki’s been challenging him more and more lately, and it’s Thor’s own fault for giving in as much as he has. Thor knows he’s going to have to lay down the law at some point. It won’t do to have a slave be so…..uppity.

 

 But to Thor’s surprise, Loki merely nods. His head droops, dejected, and that’s quite possibly worse then open defiance.

 

“Yes, my lord,” he is all he says; and no more words pass between them.

 

 

***

 

As it turns out, crushed toes are the least of Loki’s worries. 

 

It becomes routine for Thor to summon Loki after lunch for practise before afternoon council. Loki is a patient teacher, and Thor appreciates the delicacy with which he approaches Thor’s instruction. Thor is easily frustrated, and on more than one occasion he storms off, cursing at himself for ever having made this wager in the first place. But he returns, day after day, for yet more practise. Loki makes no mention of Thor’s temper tantrums, and carries on exactly where they left off before, for which Thor is secretly grateful. Thor knows he can be difficult. He doesn’t need anyone point it out.

 

After a week or so of this, Thor begins to see noticeable improvement. He doesn’t stumble over his feet like he used to, and his movements feel more fluid than they were before. He progresses so much that Loki begins to show him embellishments, little lifts and turns, and eventually, the dip.

 

 “Here - hold me here.”

 

Loki leans into Thor’s hand, testing the give. “I’ll fall backwards and you’ll guide me down.”

 

Loki lets himself sag into Thor’s palm and Thor relents, taking Loki’s weight easily and easing him backwards.

 

“Lower!” Loki demands, his face bright. Thor obeys, but still Loki is not satisfied, for he issues the same command again, and Thor bends him lower until his hair grazes the floor.

 

“Just like that,” Loki says, breathless. Their faces are so close their foreheads almost touch, and Thor has to blink several times to keep himself from going cross-eyed. “Now bring me up again.”

 

They practise this a few more times, with Loki turning into Thor’s hold, and Thor guiding him down with ever increasing sureness. Thor thrills in the way Loki so eagerly flings himself backwards, trusting in Thor to catch him before he hits the ground.

 

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll drop you?” Thor teases as he brings Loki back to his feet. “After how clumsy I’ve shown myself to be?”

 

“You won’t,” Loki answers, with such assuredness and sincerity that Thor is given pause.

 

“It’s possible.” Thor prods. “Dash your pretty head on the floor.”

 

“You won’t.” Loki says again, lacing his fingers with Thor’s. He closes the space between them, so that he and Thor are chest to chest. Loki nestles his head on Thor’s shoulder, and Thor feels his breath hot against the skin of his neck. It feels more like an upright embrace than anything else. “I trust you.”

 

Loki hums a strange tune to himself and rocks to and fro. Thor, rather helplessly, allows it.

 

 “Use your hands,” Loki breathes into Thor’s ear, bringing Thor’s hands down to his waist. “Tell me how you want me to move.”

 

“Maybe I should just fuck you,” Thor says huskily.

 

“Mmm, not yet,” Loki says, his lips curling in a knowing smile. “First, move with me.”

 

Thor does, gripping Loki by the hips and swiveling them from side to side. Loki’s body yeilds fluidly under Thor’s ministrations, malleable like clay, undulating and serpentine. Thor’s head is swimming, and it’s getting harder and harder to think.

 

Loki turns around so they’re chest to back, tilting his head back to expose his long elegant neck.  His eyes are closed and he’s still humming to himself, still moving, and Thor is _lost,_ mesmerized, and Loki must know it.

 

The shift in Loki’s demeanor has become more and more obvious of late; Thor’s attention and favor has evidently gone to his head. Where once Loki had been demere and deferential in Thor’s presence, now, he carries himself with haughtiness, supremely confident of Thor’s indulgence. It is Thor’s own fault for spoiling him. Thor delights in procuring fine gifts for Loki: jewels, clothing, furs, sweets. He does not correct Loki when Loki fails to address him by his proper titles, although Thor knows he probably should. Loki is….well…. _interesting_ when he’s unafraid to talk back. He’s surprisingly clever for a slave, and more learned than Thor first gave him credit for. Little wonder that he spends so much time reading while Thor is otherwise occupied.

 

Loki’s also got quite the penchant for mischief, as it turns out. How very convenient it is, then, that his magical arsenal is so well suited for pranks! The first time, Loki transformed the brown of Heurig’s wig into a rather whimsical rainbow of swirling, animated colours, thus rendering it impossible for Thor to focus on anything the poor man was saying. Then there was that time Loki turned Heurig’s wine into a cupful of live ants. Thor had to scold Loki for that one, although he’d been laughing then too, so he doubts whether Loki was even marginally chastised. Poor, poor Heurig. Thor doesn’t know what the poor bastard did to make himself Loki’s target of choice, but he isn’t particularly hard-pressed to get Loki to stop. 

 

When Loki belonged to Odin, Thor found such brattiness insufferable. Now, it’s like Thor is actively _cultivating_ Loki’s bad behaviour. But can he really blame himself? It’so rare to find decent entertainment these days, and besides, Thor is sure the stress-relief is doing him good.

 

 It’s to the point  where Thor questions why he ever specifically sought outmeekness in his lovers. Everyone else just seems so…..dull in comparison.

 

Thor uses his grip on Loki’s hips to press his arse more firmly against Thor’s growing erection. Loki makes a small breathy noise that goes right to Thor’s cock, a sound Thor is sure is strictly for his own benefit.

 

“I think you’re trying to get me hard,” Thor murmurs into Loki’s ear. “I think you’re teasing me.”

 

Loki merely grinds his arse backwards, laughing lightly when Thor groans. Thor’s fingers skim up Loki’s thighs to bunch up his hem, impatient, but Loki stops him.

 

Loki turns his head over his shoulder to look at Thor. “Let me sleep with you tonight.”

 

Thor growls. “Loki…”

 

“Please,” Loki pleads. “I’ve been good, haven’t I? Taught you as best as I was able?”

 

Thor flips Loki around to face him, set on scolding him for his impudence. He expects Loki to be cowed, but what he finds instead is something akin to a childish pout on Loki’s face. Thor’s irritation instantly dissipates into exasperation.

 

“Bor’s beard,” Thor groans.

 

“You have not for over a fortnight,” Loki says, sullen, his brows knotted. “Have I displeased you in some way?”

 

“No,” Thor sighs. “You please me well enough.”

 

“Then why? Your bed is much too large for just one person. It makes for such a lonely night. Don’t you like it?” He leans in close to kiss at Thor’s jaw, “Because I do.”

 

“Norns, you can whine,” Thor mutters, but sinks into Loki’s kisses anyway, tilting his head to the side to expose more bare skin. Whatever objection he had on the matter is deteriorating at an exponential rate; Loki’s his body so warm against Thor’s own, so inviting….... “Mmph, _fine_. Tonight. But _only_ tonight, you hear me? Do not for a moment think that this will become a routine occurrence.” He pulls away and points a finger at Loki’s nose. “Just because you make that face does not mean your every whim will be granted. Oh yes, Loki. You think I hadn’t noticed? I know you believe you can get your way by pouting your lip and making those big puppy eyes at me. But i am your king, I will not be swayed by such childish antics. When I issue an order it is not to be questioned. My word is _final._ ”  He gives Loki a very gentle yet firm shake, as if to drive the point home. “Is that clear?”

 

Loki widens his eyes innocently and nods. “Crystal.”

 

***

 

Thor wakes up next to Loki every day for the rest of the week. He has to admit: it is convenient having Loki in bed next to him come morning. Thor always wakes hard, and it is far easier to simply shuffle himself in behind Loki than to summon someone else to come slake his lust.

 

Loki sleeps curled in on his side, his hair a tangle on the pillow, his pale skin a flawless porcelain canvas. Despite the nightly fucking Thor gives him, Loki is often restless, shifting ever so slightly underneath Thor’s arm as if he can’t quite get comfortable. By sunrise, however, he’s exhausted himself, his dark eyelashes fanning out upon his cheeks, still save for the steady rise and fall of his chest.

 

It’s lazy mornings like these that Thor looks his fill, sweeping an errant lock of black hair away from Loki’s forehead. In sleep, the sharpness of his features is softened, and he looks young. Fragile, even. Like his bones would snap under Thor’s hands if he gripped him too hard.

 

Something warm blossoms in his chest alongside the lust beginning to pool in his belly.

 

It’s the easiest thing in the world to tug the sheet down Loki’s body, until Loki’s naked flesh is bared to him. Thor smooths a hand down his flank, careful not to wake him. Loki’s skin prickles into gooseflesh, from either the morning chill or from Thor’s touch, Thor doesn’t know. Thor flicks at a rosy nipple too, because he can, and delights when the nub hardens under his fingertips.

 

Loki makes a sleepy, kittenish noise when Thor grips a fistful of his arse, pulling it open to reveal the rosy-pink lips of his cunt and his sweet little hole. It makes Thor’s already-hard cock ache in anticipation, and a bead of pre-cum pearls at his slit.

 

“Loki,” Thor says, sing-song, his voice gruff as it always is in the morning. He rubs the head of his cock along the length of Loki’s cunt lips, delighting in the lingering wetness there from the night before. He gives no other warning before penetrating him in one smooth thrust.

 

Loki gasps aloud, jolted awake by the intrusion but unable to squirm out from underneath Thor’s arm. After the initial shock of it, Loki sighs, his eyelids drooping closed once more, his head falling back onto the pillow. Thor holds him close begins to thrust lazily, enjoying how much tighter Loki is when he’s on his side with his legs closed like this.

 

“Mmmph,” is all Loki manages to say, his mouth falling open. His hips roll onto Thor’s cock, more unconsciously than anything, because otherwise he’s still half-asleep.

 

“Is this how you intend on waking me every morning? Loki murmurs without opening his eyes.

 

Thor chuckles. “It was your wish to sleep with me, was it not?”

 

Loki makes an airy noise in the affirmative. “ _It is_ \- Ah - “

 

Thor noses at the back of Loki’s neck. “Then tell me you love it.”

 

“I love it,” Loki moans softly, arching his back to urge Thor deeper. Pleased, Thor gives his arse a few solid thwacks in reward and fucks him harder.

 

Although the angle is good, their position is not providing Thor with enough leverage to climax. But such a thing is easy enough to remedy. It is nothing for Thor to maneuver Loki onto his stomach, especially in his current dopey state. Loki yields to Thor’s manhandling without resistance, and once he is settled on his stomach Thor props himself up between Loki’s spread thighs. Thor enjoys this position, with Loki prone beneath him.  He’s much  better able to chase his pleasure this way.

 

Thor pauses before re-entering Loki, taking a moment to grab a fistful of his arse and pull his cheeks apart. He is once again treated to the sensual view of Loki’s plump little cunt lips, and the sweet, tempting furl of his other hole. Thor wets his thumb in his mouth and caresses  it, moving in small, soothing circles over the puckered flesh.

 

“My lord…?” Loki says, swallowing.

 

Thor makes a hushing noise and presses in. For a moment, he’s more distracted by the hot pull of muscle around his thumb then he is by the promise of Loki’s velvety cunt around his cock. How tight that muscle will grip his cock….!

 

Thor considers doing it right here, right now. His father’s prized virgin runtling, utterly debauched. In Odin’s own bed, no less! Loki would love it, too. Thor knows it. He might scream at first,  but in the same breath he’d beg Thor for more…..

 

_“Thor?”_

 

Loki’s voice is faraway, and the word does not even register. Thor comes-to, the haze of arousal lifting somewhat. Loki is looking over his shoulder at him warily, the muscles of his back tense, like he knows exactly what Thor had been imagining. Thor exhales. If he were to do it, he’d make sure Loki would like it. He would take care not to hurt him. Thor will have to put some oil aside for just that purpose.

 

In the meantime, Thor slips his thumb out and angles his cock back inside Loki’s slick cunt. Sinking inside him is pure bliss; Thor’s vision whites out at the feel of it. He comes not long after, groaning Loki’s name in reverence.

 

 

***

 

What is most unnerving to Thor are the things he does with Loki _other_ than fucking.

 

No one is more surprised about this than Thor himself; the only people who have held his attention for any length of time have been Sif and his Warriors Three.

 

So Thor enjoys Loki’s company. So what? He’s king, he can do what he likes. If he wishes to unwind with his favourite concubine than who is to stop him?

 

Thor tells himself this as he barges in on Loki one afternoon for the singular purpose of playing hooky.

 

“We are not practising today,” Thor announces, tossing an article of clothing to Loki, who had erstwhile been curled up in one of Thor’s plush armchairs reading.  “Put these on. Come with me.”

 

Loki makes a perplexed face and holds up the pair of trousers Thor had flung at him.

 

"I need fresh air. I am going riding.” Thor announces. “And you are coming with me.”

 

Loki’s face alights. “Truly?”

 

“I think I am well enough prepared for SIf’s party that we can forgo today’s lesson,” Thor says. “Don’t you think?”

 

Loki’s mouth opens, clearly trying to think up a tactful response, but Thor merely laughs.

 

“Quickly, before I change my mind,” Thor says, jovial, and watches in amusement as Loki scrambles to obey. Although Thor has seen Loki naked more times than he can count, Loki for some reason still feels the need to change behind one of the elaborate decorative screens that adorns the Imperial suite. Thor isn’t sure if this is because Loki is still clinging to some sense of modesty, or because he knows the painted paper screen is almost transparent when the afternoon sunlight shines through _just so_. Thor settles on the latter, since Loki never misses an opportunity to make Thor’s life as sexually frustrated as possible.

 

Loki’s shadowy silhouette undoes the laces on his shift in such a slow, showy manner it could not be construed as anything _but_ deliberate. Thor would scream at him to get on with it if he weren’t enjoying it so much.

 

“Might I ask what brought this on?” Loki calls. His shifts slips to the floor, revealing his long, lean, nude profile. “If it would not be too forward of me to do so…..”

 

“I bore of council. So tiresome and stuffy.” Thor strokes his beard and hums admiringly. “If I did not take time to clear my head I’d go mad.”

 

“Anything in particular troubling you?”

 

Thor lets out a long sigh. “There are always grave matters to attend to. I would rather not elucidate.”

 

Loki peeks his head out from behind the screen. “You know I am always willing to lend an ear. If that would help.”

 

“Oh, pet,” Thor grins lasciviously, “You are always more than _helpful._ ”

 

Loki dresses himself in the clothes he’d been brought, and emerges some moments later fully clothed. He is resplendent even in a simple white riding tunic and tan trousers.

 

Thor gives him a once-over and nods in approval. “They fit. Come along.”

 

***

 

Riding has always been one of Thor’s great joys: the wind in his hair, the speed, the _freedom._ It was always the best way for him to vent his pent-up frustrations. Something about it just seems so primal, so simple. The way things ought to be.

 

And, with Loki warm at his back, Thor’s worries seem very far away indeed. They travel with great speed to nowhere in particular; Loki seems thrilled to simply be there, with Thor, enjoying the lovely late summer weather. He’d shown no hesitance at all to mount Thor’s steed, even though he’d assured Thor he’d never been on horseback before. From the way he’s squeezing Thor’s waist, Thor wonders if he’s anxious or merely excited, but Thor soon settles on the latter. When Thor guides his horse through a shallow stream, splashing them both with water, Loki makes the most lovely, airy little giggle.

 

Deeper into the forest they go, further and further away from all Thor’s worries and responsibilities. He used to ride daily, before he took on the reins of power, and many long hours were spent in the saddle after his mother passed. Although those carefree days of youth have long since ended, Thor still feels the urge to escape sometimes. He just needs space to _breathe_. Maybe now, with Loki by his side, he’ll have an excuse to go out more often.

 

“There,” Loki says into his ear, pointing far into the distance. “What’s that?”  


“The old Cathedral,” Thor calls over his shoulder. “Shall we go take a closer look?”

 

“Yes!” comes the enthusiastic reply. “Yes!”

 

Thor spurs his horse harder towards the towering ruins. It had been many years since Thor had been there last. Time seems to have forgotten this place, and the Cathedral is as beautifully derelict and overgrown as it ever was.

 

Thor halts his horse just outside the Cathedral grounds. He dismounts first, then helps Loki climb off, lowering him to the ground with two hands about his waist. Thor hitches his mare to a nearby tree, and she eagerly sets about munching at the sun-kissed grasses that grow at its roots.

 

Loki is clearly excited when they enter the Cathedral proper; Thor can tell. And why wouldn’t he be - the Cathedral is a sight to behold, older than the palace of Asgard and fashioned out of magnificent sparkling bluish granite. Part of the ceiling had collapsed long ago, and where sunlight falls greenery has begun to sprout. A few large oak trees reach towards the exposed patches of sky; their gnarled roots work to dislodge the ancient inlaid stone floor and return it to earth.

 

“I confess I know little about the Cathedral’s history,” Thor says, “But I do know this was a place to worship the higher gods, back before my grandfather was king, even.” He sighs, running his hand fondly over the smooth, weather-beaten stone, and shakes his head. “So many of the old ways are lost.”

 

Loki looks around in wonder, eyes bright and wide, as if he can’t take in his surroundings fast enough. “It’s beautiful,” he says, wandering further inside.

 

Thor makes an affirmative noise as he trails behind Loki, his stare heavy on Loki’s back. He isn’t used to seeing Loki in plain brown trousers and boots, but Thor decides he likes the look of it: relaxed and at ease. “I used to come here as a lad. Lady Sif and I spent many a golden summer day exploring this place and learning its secrets.” Thor smiles, fond at the memory. “And hiding from our parents.”

 

Loki flips himself around so he is walking backwards, facing Thor, a broad, almost crazy-looking grin on his face. Then, in one swift motion, executes a series of backflips, seemingly out of sheer exuberance. Loki soon rights himself, breathless and laughing and …..joyful, even. Something tugs inside Thor’s chest to behold it, and he knows he’s laughing too.

 

Loki smoothes back his hair casually, like that was a perfectly normal thing to do. “You will have to bring me here more often.” He grazes his fingertips over the surface of a massive stone column, then casts his gaze upwards to admire the elaborate capital far above. “I like to explore.”

 

 “As you wish.”

 

Loki looks back at Thor like he hadn’t expected him to agree so easily.

 

“Tomorrow?”

 

Thor chuckles. “When my schedule allows.”

 

“Tomorrow,” Loki says with finality, like he hadn’t heard Thor at all.

 

Thor crosses his arms, but his tone is light.  “You realize I have a kingdom to run? Council meetings to attend? Petitions to hear? Does none of that mean anything to you?”

 

In answer, Loki makes that outrageously put-on pouty face, the one he uses when he's trying to coax Thor into something, although this time he exaggerates it so that his lower lip is literally jutting out. Meant as a joke, no doubt; but even so, it's infuriating in its effectiveness.

 

Thor throws his hands up and laughs. “Gods above, but you vex me.”

 

Loki drops the expression and grins, looking upwards again to take in the sight of the soaring colonnade of pointed arches. “It is nice to escape the palace for a change.”

 

Thor is given pause at this: He wonders if Loki feels cooped up in the palace. Not so unlike Thor in that regard.

 

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Loki says at length, after a long silence passes between them.

 

“You’re welcome,” Thor answers, just as sincerely.

 

“When we return tomorrow we shall have to bring a picnic,” Loki declares. "Or, I suppose, _when your schedule allows._ ”

 

Thor shakes his head at Loki’s _concession_ , but laughs nonetheless. “You are determined to aggravate me.” He holds his hand out for Loki to come to him, but Loki stands his ground, some paces away. Then, Loki pointedly takes a step back. 

 

“Come here,” Thor says.

 

“Is that an order?” Loki asks, which seems like a ridiculous question: _why wouldn’t it be?_ But then Loki takes another step back, a mischievous smile on his face, and Thor knows, _knows,_ they’re about to play another of Loki’s little games.

 

“You enjoy the hunt, don’t you my lord?”

 

Thor’s grin increases tenfold. “You know I do."

 

“They say there is no hunter as skilled as you…...”

 

“Oh pet,” Thor says, his eyes glinting darkly, “I am the best in all the Realms.”

 

“A bold claim,” Loki says idly, his gaze never straying from Thor’s. He takes yet another step back. “Do you think you could catch me?”

 

Thor smirks, already reaching up to unhook his red cape. It will only prove too cumbersome for the chase.

 

“Let me be the rabbit,” Loki goes on, “And you be the hunter.”

 

“Little rabbit,” Thor taunts, trying the name out on his tongue. He lays his cape on the stony floor and shakes out his shoulders. “What happens when I catch you?"

 

“ _If_ you catch me,” Loki corrects, undaunted, “I will show you something.”

 

“Show me what?”

 

“Something you will wish to see,” Loki says cryptically.

 

Thor cocks his eyebrow but decides not to press. To do so would only spoil the surprise. “And in the unlikely event that you should escape me?”

 

“I ask only to be called victor,” Loki says. 

 

Thor snorts. "Then we are agreed.”

 

Loki keeps walking backwards, inching deeper and deeper into the cathedral’s interior. He looks primed to dart if Thor made any move. Thor grins back at him, predatory.

 

“Ten seconds’ head start,” Loki states.

 

"You think that enough to escape me, little rabbit?" Thor pouts. "I am almost insulted."

 

" _Five_ seconds.”

 

Oh, but he is a little snot sometimes. Thor nods in agreement, smirking.

 

Loki continues to slink backwards, a funny smile on his face. Then, in a flash, he is sprinting away, his black hair a torrent behind him.

 

Thor’s heart races in anticipation, and he primes himself for a speedy takeoff. “One…..” he counts under his breath. “Two……”

 

Loki is….fast.  Faster than Thor expects. He's already halfway down the nave of the cathedral, heading at a lightning pace towards the interior. Beyond lie many darkened passageways and corridors in which one could hide. But Thor is heartened by the fact  that Loki can't possibly have any idea where he's going. Thor knows these grounds well, and he predicts it will give him the advantage he needs to overcome his prey.

 

"Three," Thor says, then takes off, hot on Loki's heels, energized and exhilarated.

 

Some ways ahead, Loki darts into a small doorway, leading deeper into the Cathedral. Thor speeds after him, his footsteps heavy compared to Loki's near soundless ones. Thor reaches the doorway not long after Loki does, barrelling into the darkness without giving his eyes time to adjust.

 

The passageway splits into two directions, but luckily Thor catches a brief glimpse of movement far down the right hand side: it’s Loki, turning another corner and disappearing out of sight. Thor gives chase; if he does not keep up, he could very well lose track of him. Knowing the layout of the ruins won’t help him much if Loki finds a good place to hide.

 

Thor turns the corner, then stops suddenly. Loki is standing there, at the end of a very, very long corridor. Waiting. Waiting for Thor to catch up!  Loki is teasing him, Thor realizes. Taunting him just enough to keep Thor on track. As if Thor were some kind of simpleton!

 

Thor makes an outraged noise, which prompts Loki to dart around the next bend. Thor gives chase, running harder, faster. When he turns the corner, he finds the resulting passageway stark and empty: Loki is nowhere in sight. Thor knows, however, that there are no more exits from this hallway - it having caved in long ago - so he figures Loki must be hiding in one of the adjacent rooms.

 

Thor comes to a halt, panting heavily. “Loki…...” he calls, though he expects no answer. “Little rabbit….”

 

Carefully, Thor makes his way in the dim light, listening for any sign of Loki.  It’s eerie in here, and Thor can’t help but feel rather _exposed_ without Mjolnir at his side. He can only imagine how unnerved Loki must feel, small and vulnerable as he is. Well, it’s his own damn fault for suggesting this game in the first place. Let him run willingly back into the safety of Thor’s arms!

 

Thor peeks into the first room, only to find it empty save for rubble and moss. Thor frowns, squinting in the darkness. It’s hard to see, but he’s fairly confident none of the featureless lumps therein are Loki. He’s hesitant to move deeper into the chamber, however, in case Loki takes his chance to whisk past him in the hallway outside.

 

The second room is little different; This place has been abandoned for centuries. There is nothing here but bare stone.

 

“Loki,” Thor calls again, sing-song. “Are you hiding in here, pet?”

 

Thor makes his way towards the third room. It’s getting darker, if that were possible. The Cathedral is built into the side of a hill, so although he has not descended any stairs, Thor is fairly certain he’s underground. There’s a noticeable chill in the air that makes Thor shiver. He really should have brought Mjolnir. What if there were Bilgesnipes nesting down here?  


The third room is also caved in, having been punctured by tree roots from above. They are definitely underground, so Thor decides it would unwise to linger. The air is stale down here. Claustrophobic, even. Thor much prefers the open air of a battlefield to these dank catacombs. Up on a field of battle one can meet their enemies face to face, as is honourable; there is no _sneaking around_ in the darkness like some coward in the night.

 

“Loki….” Thor calls again, but this time there’s a faint note of concern in his voice that wasn’t there before. If he doesn’t catch sight of Loki soon, he’s going to call off this silly game.

 

“Tho-or,” comes the echo, in exactly the same singsong tone. Thor whirls around. Far behind him,  towards the entrance of the hallway, Loki is wiggling his fingers at him in a semblance of a wave.

 

“ _Oy!”_ Thor shouts. He used his magic, the little twat! There is no way he could have gotten past him otherwise. Thor lets out a mighty roar, the sound echoing down the passageway. Loki must be startled by the noise, because in a flash he’s taken off back the way they came, towards the Cathedral proper. But Thor is in less of a playful mood now. He makes it his singular goal to run down Loki, even if it means chasing him to the very roots of Yggdrasil itself.

 

Wait. Did Loki just call Thor by name?

 

Thor sprints after Loki, and is quite relieved to find that Loki’s leading them both back outside. Thor’s legs are beginning to burn, but still he runs harder, faster. He _has_ to catch Loki. He just has to. 

 

Loki reaches the Cathedral proper only a few moments before Thor, but Thor worries that even a _slight_ head start would give Loki enough time to find somewhere new to hide - or worse, to magic himself invisible. By now, Thor has had enough of this game, and is beginning to get frustrated. He just wants Loki securely in his grasp again.

 

In the end, Thor oughtn’t have worried.  It takes Thor a couple of seconds to readjust to the brightness, but when he does, he has no trouble spotting Loki.

 

“What are you doing? Are you mad?!” Thor shouts, jogging over. Somehow, in the time since Thor had lost sight of him, Loki had climbed ( _magicked himself?)_ up atop the colonnade, high above Thor’s head and very much out of reach. But because the Cathedral’s second-level balcony has mostly caved in, only the entablature remains. In effect, Loki is tightrope-walking a very narrow beam of stone.

 

“Get down from there!” Thor barks. “You will break your neck!”

 

“I thought we were playing,” Loki says innocently, taking a few careful steps, his arms out to the side for balance. Then, to Thor’s horror, he does a _flip_ , like a gymnast on a balance beam. It might just be the most awe-inducing sight Thor has ever seen, and yet Thor almost has to avert his eyes. His stomach is in his throat. God’s above, Loki’s going to give him a heart attack.

 

 Loki lands it perfectly, of course, with nary a wobble in his step. He even has the audacity to _laugh._

 

_“Loki!”_

 

“Do I win?” Loki taunts from high above. “Do you forfeit?”

 

Thor huffs, crossing his arms, not at all liking having to look up at Loki like this.

 

“I’m not playing anymore. You cheated; you used your magic!"

 

"And you did not count to five," Loki returns, amused.

 

"That -" Thor sputters incredulously. “Never mind. Get down from there, lest I truly lose my temper!"

 

“Would you like to see a backflip? Of course, that might be trickier -”

 

“Don’t you dare,” Thor hisses.

 

“Why, my lord,” Loki bats his eyelashes. “It is almost as if you care about me.”

 

“Of course I care about you,” Thor snaps. The words reverberate off the stone walls and fade into an awkward silence. They stare at each other for a long while.

 

Thor reaches his arms out imploringly. “Come down,” he orders again, more pleading than before. “.........Please.”

 

To Thor’s infinite relief, Loki nods his head and acquiesces. He crouches low on the beam, then lowers himself so that his legs are dangling off the edge, just above where Thor stands in wait. Gingerly, he slips his arse off and lets himself fall into Thor’s outstretched arms. Thor catches him easily with just a small _oomph,_ relief flooding his system at having Loki securely in his embrace again.

 

“You caught me,” Loki says breathlessly, his cheeks flushed with exertion, his hair a windswept mess. He’s never looked so beautiful. "I suppose that means you won."

 

At that, Thor squeezes Loki hard against his chest. “Gods, but you are mad. Absolutely mad. Do you know that?”

 

“So you have often told me,” Loki says; his usual response when Thor tells him this. They are both still high on adrenaline, and it’s the easiest thing in the world to lie Loki on the mossy ground atop Thor’s discarded cape, with Thor’s hand protectively cradling the back of Loki’s head as he guides him down.

 

With Loki firmly settled on his back, Thor is able to knee apart his legs and lower himself between them. The feel of his body beneath Thor’s is so…..reassuring. Loki is back where he belongs, at last.

 

“Did I frighten you just now, my lord?” Loki teases gently.

 

“No,” Thor says. Then, petulant, he adds, “Yes.”

 

“I am here, I’m not going anywhere,” Loki whispers, cutting straight to the heart of it. His fingers tighten in Thor’s hair. “I’ll never leave you.” Loki presses his forehead to Thor’s, and grinds his hips up against Thor’s now prominent erection. Thor humps between Loki’s invitingly spread legs, wanton as a teenage boy. They both groan at the contact, and Thor shudders.

 

“Loki,” Thor pleads. “Loki.”

 

Loki pushes at Thor’s chest until Thor backs off just enough to give him room to maneuver a bit. Loki makes quick work of the laces on Thor’s breeches, reaching delicate fingers inside to palm at Thor’s erection. Thor makes a throaty, guttural noise when Loki finally wraps his hand around his cock. All that excitement has left Thor antsy and brimming with unspent energy. Loki seems to sense his need and does not tarry in undoing the laces of his own trousers.

 

“So much less convenient than my shifts,” Loki jokes, breathless, but Thor is too wound up to appreciate his attempt to lighten the mood. He merely grunts and helps Loki rip off his suede boots and trousers. Thor descends upon him at once, planting hungry, desperate kisses along his jaw and shoulder. 

 

“Majesty,” Loki moans. “My lord - umph. _Thor._ Please do it. Do it now, darling.”

 

Thor needs no further encouragement. He lines himself up and pierces Loki in one smooth thrust. Thor pauses, even as his body is screaming at him to _fuck fuck fuck_. He’s never felt so needy.

 

Thor begins slowly, rocking into Loki’s slick cunt, spreading the wetness down the length of his cock.

 

“Ah, Loki,” Thor says it like a curse and slips his hand up Loki’s shirt to palm at his chest, as though Loki had breasts. After awhile he begins to thrust more violently, pumping his cock inside Loki with enough force to rock Loki forwards several inches each time. He is only barely lucid enough to remember not to crush Loki with his weight. His cape must offer some cushioning, but beneath that is nothing but grassy stone.

 

Loki is open-mouthed and panting, his black hair splayed out over Thor’s cape like an inky stain. His fingers fist into Thor’s own tunic, wordlessly spurring him on. Rutting so frantically, it does not take either of them long to reach completion. Thor roars as he cums, pumping himself erratically into Loki’s willing body, and collapses, his mind blissfully blank and his limbs boneless. He pants wetly into Loki’s shoulder until slowly, he recuperates some of his faculties. Thus spent, he flops down next to Loki and gathers him into his arms. They lie there for some time, sweaty and exhausted, dozing lightly, and only waking to watch the clouds pass overhead.

 

“We should return to prepare for tonight,” Loki says at length, peeling his head off Thor’s chest. His face is dreamy and satiated, and his hair, quite charmingly,  has a few leaves stuck in it.

 

Thor cocks his head. “Tonight?”

 

“For Lady Sif’s party,” Loki clarifies. “it’s tonight, isn’t it?”

 

“Yes,” Thor says, then perhaps too bluntly, adds, “But you won’t be coming.”

 

Loki seems genuinely taken aback by this. He sits up. “I thought…..” His brow furrows when it becomes clear Thor isn’t jesting. “I thought that……”

 

“That I was going to dance with you?” Thor bursts out into laughter. “Oh pet. I’m dancing with Sif. Why would I dance with you? You’re a - “ Thor’s voice trails off.

 

“A what?” Loki says softly, staring down at him. “What am I?”

 

They stare at each other for a long while in silence. Thor's mouth opens once, twice, but nothing comes out.

 

At length, Loki laughs at himself. His cheeks pink, and he looks genuinely embarrassed.

 

“Forgive me, I was being foolish. Of course it will be with Lady Sif. I must have misunderstood.”

 

There’s a note of bitterness in his voice that gives Thor pause, but at the same time, Thor knows he hadn’t mislead Loki in this. He never explicitly told Loki that they’d be dancing together. Loki should have never assumed such a thing.

 

“Don’t be upset, love,” Thor says, sitting up to affectionately tuck a lock of Loki’s hair behind his ear. “I very much enjoyed our lessons. I am grateful for your instruction.”  


Loki nods, then ducks his head away from Thor’s touch. There’s upset written all over his face, and Thor huffs. 

 

“Loki,” Thor warns. He doesn’t appreciate having his offer of reconciliation dismissed.

 

Loki smiles, but it looks forced, tight. _Be happy,_ Thor wants to command, but knows such an order would only sabotage itself. He can no more command Loki to be happy than he could to will a flower to bloom.

 

Thor sighs.

 

“I will make it up to you,” Thor says, petting Loki’s cheek and planting a light kiss there. “I promise.”

 

 

***

 

Thor is drunk.

 

 _Very_ drunk.

 

He’s in a celebratory mood, so why not?

 

They all thought he’d tie his feet in two trying to dance a quicktrot. Ha, ha! The look on Sif’s face! Thor _literally_ swept her off her feet. Gods above, it was all worth it, to see her so completely and utterly astonished and delighted. The wild applause and cheers he’d received mean nothing to him in comparison.

 

 Volstagg had even stopped shovelling food into his mouth to watch, and that’s saying something.

 

“You look so surprised, friends!” Thor says cheerfully as he returns to his seat, Sif’s hand perched in his. He feels breathless and exhilarated, and is surprised at how much he’d enjoyed the experience. In truth, he’s beginning to see the appeal of this dancing business. Hel, he might even ask Sif for another turn on the dancefloor. “Did you think I could not do it?”

 

“It’s not that we didn’t think you could do it,” Volstagg says. “It’s just that we didn’t think you’d do it like _that.”_

 

Thor laughs, vindicated, and settles onto his couch to feast the night away. The drink soon catches up to him though, and before long he is a grinning, happy mess, beyond pleased with how this evening had played out.

 

“So Loki did manage to teach you,” Fandral says thoughtfully, some time later. “A miracle.”

 

 “Wait. Loki taught you?” Sif exclaims over her wine.

 

“Aye.” Thor puffs his chest. “Very thoroughly, I should say.”

 

Sif’s eyesbrows arch, clearly impressed. “Well then! Pass on my thanks; Truly that was the best birthday gift I have ever received.”

 

“Let me send for him.” Thor says. “He would be very pleased to know it.”

 

***

 

 

It does not take long for his order to be obeyed, and in short order, Loki is led into the hall by two pages.

 

“There he is!” Thor beams. “My little dancer. C’mere.”

 

Loki does, approaching Thor’s couch with a small curtsy.

 

 “You will be pleased to know that not a single toe was crushed this night! I performed with near-perfection. My lady Sif was thrilled.”

 

“Immensely,” Sif adds from Thor’s side. “You must be an excellent dance instructor! I am sure it was no mean task to teach him. Frankly I thought it impossible.”

 

Loki ducks his head. “I am very glad to hear it, my lord. My lady.”

 

“And we have you to thank,” Thor goes on, drawing Loki closer by tugging on his hand. Thor sits up and his head swims; for a second he sees two Lokis. “Ah, but you _are_ a sweet thing. My sweet slave. No wonder my father was so taken with you.”

 

Loki is rendered visibly uncomfortable at this, but in his drunken state, Thor hardly notices. He pulls Loki in to stand between his thighs, then further still to slur drunkenly in Loki’s ear. “But you’re mine now. Aren’t you? You belong to me.”

 

Thor casts a quick look beyond Loki’s head. Such jealousy on the faces of Thor’s courtiers and noblemen! Ha! Thor will never tire of lording Loki over them. It’s deeply gratifying to see them openly yearn for what Thor can take at will.

 

“You like to be shown off, don’t you?” Thor whispers huskily. “I like to show you off too.” Thor presses a kiss to Loki’s clothed stomach and affects a pout. “Do a little dance for me?”

 

Loki opens his mouth to answer, but before he can make any response, Thor is already calling for music.

 

“Majesty, I -”

 

“Make them want you,” Thor interrupts. In his inebriated, lustful enthusiasm, Thor smooths his hands up Loki’s thighs, bunching up Loki’s shift almost up to his arse. He’d intended to speak softly, but the alcohol has raised his volume several decibels, and it comes out much louder than he’d anticipated. “Make them wish they could rut between your long legs as only I can.”

 

“ _Majesty,”_ Loki pleads, blushing furiously and twisting away. He scrambles to cover himself from the invasive stares they are eliciting, and grips his hands over Thor’s to keep them from wandering. Thor merely laughs, too deep in his cups to see the indignation on Loki’s face.

 

“Just a little dance, love. I have something for you.”

 

Loki nods, his jaw clenched, and makes a tiny _mmph_ sound when Thor thwacks his arse playfully.

 

The musicians are soon readied, and Loki takes his place at the center of the floor. When the music begins, so does Loki. It’s a fine little dance of jumps, twirls and tumbles, with a few smoke bombs thrown in for good measure. Loki never fails to entertain. He’s always so graceful, so enthralling. And yet Thor is distracted; alcohol always puts the red in his blood, and the dance has done nothing to ease the semi-erection Thor’s been sporting since he had Loki in his grasp. It’s got him envisioning Loki spread beneath him, taking his cock into his tight little cunt, moaning and squirming so prettily, as he always does. Thor shifts in his chair, antsy. Would his intentions be glaringly obvious if he retired so soon after Loki is dismissed?

 

Loki finishes with a few tumbling passes and strikes a magnificent final pose. Predictably, the crowd is delighted, and Loki bows low on one knee to acknowledge their cheers. Thor grins, raising his hand to tell the crowd to settle down.

 

“Bravo!” Thor says once the noise has petered out. “Oh, Bravo, pet. You just keep on astounding us, don’t you? The most beautiful dancer to have ever graced these halls! I do believe a reward is in order.” Thor raises his voice. “Has he not earned a reward from his King!?”

 

The crowd roars in approval. Thor basks in it for a moment before raising his hand to call for silence again. He then waves a servant forward, who kneels and presents Loki with a small lacquered box.

 

“A gift,” Thor announces, “For my most treasured favourite.”

 

The servant opens the box, revealing the exquisite string of pearls Thor had selected for just this occasion. There are many admiring _oohs_ from the assembled onlookers, which pleases Thor too. Let them see how he dotes on his favourite!

 

Loki approaches slowly, reaching forward to delicately trace his fingertips over the beads. He looks up at Thor briefly, and Thor nods his assent:

 

_Go on, kitten. Take it._

 

The room is quiet, so, so quiet. The moment drags on much longer than it should, until the atmosphere in the hall begins to sour. Thor’s smile falters.

 

Then, after glancing up at him one more time, Loki does something Thor would have never imagined _:_ he turns on his heels……...and leaves.

 

It all happened so quickly Thor did not even have time to intercede. Thor can hardly even believe what he’d just witnessed. It’s _inconceivable_ for a gift from a kingto be so openly refused.

 

There’s an uncomfortable burn at the back of Thor’s neck, and he immediately recognizes the feeling as _humiliation_. Everyone is murmuring. They’d all seen it.

 

 From here, the whispers will spread like plague, becoming ugly and distorted:

 

 _The King of Asgard can’t keep his whores in line._  

 

Thor is instantly sobered. He’s never been snubbed like that, and so _publicly_ too _._ How dare he. How _dare_ he?

 

“Oh dear,” Amora says at his side. “He didn’t like it.”

 

Volstagg is laughing, too drunk to do otherwise. He claps Thor on the shoulder. “Trouble in paradise, eh, Thor?”

 

Thor rises from his seat, the low din of voices now unbearable. “Excuse me,” he seethes, taking his leave, even as Sif begs him to sit back down. He approaches his head guard on the way out, hardly able to contain his fury to form coherent words. Somehow he manages, though his voice is low and dark and threatening. Thor feels electricity prickle underneath his skin.

 

_“Bring him to me.”_

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha
> 
> haha
> 
> HAHAHAHAHAHAHA


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are you guys ready for some garbage Loki whump to ring in the new year? I am aware this is nothing but sleazy melodramatic idfic but ehhhhhhhhhhhhh. Unbeta'd, so apologies for any errors.
> 
> As ever, thank you for the comments! I will try to be better about replying/leaving comments in the new year :) 
> 
> This chapter goes out to mah bby Dangereuse cos it’s especially hurty and she likes that. (it’s okay to blame dangereuse for everything.)
> 
> PSA: I added a non-con warning to be on the safe side. This is the darkest chapter of the story so please heed the warnings.

 

_Who does he think he is?_

 

_Humiliating me?_

 

_And In front of my friends, no less!_

 

_He should be grateful for the gifts, for the accommodation in the harem. How many countless others would gladly take his place?_

 

Turbulent thoughts swirl in Thor’s head as he makes his way upstairs, to where he knows Loki has been made to wait for him. He’s furious, moreso even than when he learned the truth of Loki’s magic. Guards and servants wisely get out of his way as Thor passes, alerted to the danger by the current of static electricity in the air. They know better than to intervene when Thor is in such a state. In truth, Thor’s not sure what he’ll do when he comes face to face with Loki. He’s too drunk to think clearly, and the wound is too fresh to even try to rein in his baser impulses. Like a lightning strike, the only way to expunge his excess energy is to release it…...

 

Loki startles when Thor barges in, looking up with wide eyes. He stands by the window, retracting a fingernail from his mouth like he’d just been chewing on it. He seems to shrink even more as Thor approaches. Thor remembers that frightened look from the first time Loki had crossed him, when he’d lied about his magic. This time, however, Thor isn’t moved.

 

“What the Hel was that?” Thor demands, slamming the door behind him and storming over. “You insulted me! Openly defied me in front of my closest friends!”

 

Loki stands his ground when Thor draws near, but there’s apprehension in his stance too, and his fingers clench harder around his robe, pulling it taut around him.

 

“I insulted you,” Loki echoes.

 

“Did my gift not please you? Not _extravagant_ enough for you, is that it?” Thor sneers. “I swear, what these damn concubines have me do to satisfy them. I could pluck the stars from the sky and it would not be enough…..”

 

Loki crosses his arms more tightly around himself, and when he speaks his voice is quiet but firm. “It’s not the necklace.”

 

“The pearls are from Alfheim; collected and treasured by the mer-folk there,” Thor goes on stubbornly. “I assure you I paid a sizeable amount to acquire them. They are more than adequate a gift for one even as lofty as you.”

 

“It’s not the necklace,” Loki repeats, and the last of Thor’s patience frays away completely.

 

“Then what?  You do this just to aggravate me?” Thor shouts right into Loki’s face. “To make me look like a fool? Why must you be so…..... _difficult?!”_

 

The last word is so sharp and biting that Loki shrinks, his eyes wide and afraid. The sight of it is enough to give Thor pause, even in his drunken state. He takes a few deep inhales to calm himself, scrubbing his hand over his face, and tries again.

 

“If you don’t accept this necklace I will have to make an example of you, do you know that?” Thor says lowly, more warning than threat. “When a King is so inclined to present you with a gift is an insult to refuse it. Be gracious and accept my generosity. A little gratitude would not go amiss.”

 

“Gratitude,” Loki says, his face twisting into an expression Thor has never seen before. “For treating me as you do? For _humiliating_ me? At times I think - I think you must care for me, but sometimes….” Loki looks away, and when he speaks again his voice wavers. “Sometimes I swear, it seems like I mean nothing to you at all. You make me feel so _........cheap_.”

 

“Loki….” Thor begins, but stops short of apologizing. The King of Asgard doesn’t _apologize._ And even if he did, it certainly would not be to a slave. “Don’t be like that.  Here -”

 

He wishes Loki would accept it so they could be done with this, because truly Thor takes no pleasure in the thought of having Loki punished. If it came to that, Thor would have no choice. He cannot let such an obvious slight against him slide. He’s already shown far too much leniency with Loki in the past. How would anyone respect him if he continued to let this slave act with such insubordination? They’ll think him weak. _Soft._

 

“Take it,” Thor pleads. pulling the necklace out of his pocket and offering it with insistence. “Take it, it’s yours.”

 

But Loki makes no move to do so, so Thor simply slips it over his head for him, and clasps it closed at the back of his neck. They are truly stunning on him, gleaming in the dim light.

 

“See how beautiful they are on you?” Thor coaxes, as gently as he is able, although it still comes out sounding abrasive. He waits for some reaction, some expression of thanks, but when none comes, Thor’s frustration mounts.

 

“Well?” Thor grunts.

 

Loki chews his lip, looking down at the pearls and thumbing at them absently.

 

“Thank you,” Loki eventually says. It comes off as a bit forced, empty, which only aggravates Thor further. But he hasn’t really the will to fight any more about it anymore. He’s tired, and drunk, and he just wants this to be over with.

 

“Then it is settled.” Thor clears his throat and tilts his chin up to straightens to his full magisterial height. “You will wear them around court, and it will be like that - incident - never happened. But let this be a warning: I am still your master, Loki. I have shown you leniency once before, but you are wearing my patience thin. You would be wise to act within your station, and be grateful for the favour I bestow upon you.”

 

Loki just looks away, his arms still closed tightly around himself. _Protectively_ , Thor might’ve thought, had he not had so much to drink. Thor hates these little sour moods Loki gets in. It frustrates Thor that Loki isn’t happier, _genuinely_ so, especially when Thor had taken care to be so gentle with him.

 

Thor wishes Loki would smile at him the way he did out at the Cathedral.

 

“I can give you anything. Name it, it’s yours,” Thor says at length, when the silence becomes unbearable. He hates himself for this, trying to appease a _pleasure slave,_ but the words spill out nonetheless. “What about a horse of your own? And.....and private riding lessons too. Would you like that? I’d give you permission to ride anywhere on the palace grounds. And the surrounding woodlands if you have an escort.” Thor thinks - there isn’t much he hasn’t already given Loki. Loki is by far his most doted on concubine; he is ever attired in the most resplendent silks and jewels. What more could Thor possibly give? “Or maybe would you like some companionship while I am away? I could get you a handmaiden, or a tutor, or….or a puppy, even. Just tell me what you want, and I will make it so.”

 

“What I want you won’t give me,” Loki says, so quietly he’s almost inaudible.

 

A knot of dread forms in Thor’s stomach. If Loki asks for his freedom, Thor already knows he will refuse.

 

“You liked it,” Loki accuses, finally looking up to meet Thor’s eyes. His tone is pleading, plaintive, _wounded_. “Kissing me, the night of your coronation. You liked it, I remember. You kissed me back.”

 

Thor lets out a long exhale.  “Loki….”   

 

“You want to. I know you do.” Loki tilts his head up, as if hoping Thor will indulge him. His eyes are so round, so imploring that for a moment Thor seriously considers giving in. “Maybe I want it too.”

 

Thor doesn't bridge the gap between them, and Loki’s face turns so….. _sad._

 

“Tell me you didn’t like it, just tell me you didn’t like it and I’ll stop,” Loki says. “I’ll never ask it of you again. I’ll be good, I won’t question you anymore. But if you did like it - if you want to - I beg you, _please,_ tell me, because I cannot stand not knowing.”

 

The truth is, that deep down, Thor _does_ want to kiss him. He’s thought of it more times than he’d ever admit. He liked the feeling of being close to someone for once.

 

But they are not equals, and it would be unwise to behave otherwise.

 

“Loki,” Thor sighs. “I can’t.”

 

“Because of what they’ll think, is that it? Because I’m Jotunn and you cannot be seen to care for me?”  The wounded expression on Loki’s face intensifies, so much so that Thor finds it hard to look at him. “Or is it because you’re afraid of what you might feel for me if you do?”

 

Thor hardens at this, his face setting into a severe expression. It pisses Thor off that Loki’s playing him like this. Thor knows he is too difficult a man to be offered love freely. Like all those who came before, Loki has nothing but Thor’s crown in his sights. Which, erstwhile, Thor would not have minded so much - Thor is, above all, a pragmatic man. He understands the way the world works. As the King of Asgard, his love life is by definition transactional in nature; an exchange of power and wealth for sex. Such is the way of things. Thor accepted it long ago.

 

 It’s this _playacting_ that really grates on Thor - making their relationship into something it's not. Why can’t Loki just be happy with his station? Why does he insist on demanding more than Thor is capable of giving?

 

 Loki must know how badly Thor wants to give in, too. How _pathetic_. A king who yearns for the love of a slave.

 

“I am not your lover,” Thor says coldly. “You are not my wife.”

 

“I could be,” Loki whispers, his green eyes blazing and defiant.

 

“You are a whore.” The word sounds harsh even to his own ears. “Nothing more .”

 

In one smooth motion, Loki rips off the necklace, and to Thor’s utter astonishment, throws it to the ground and shatters it. The pearls scatter, a great cascade in all directions. Thor is so stunned that Loki makes it several paces before Thor grabs him again and whips him around to face him.

 

“We are not finished!”  Thor squeezes Loki by the biceps. “I did not dismiss you. I want to _fuck_.”

 

_“No.”_

 

The word reverberates in Thor’s drunken mind, sobering him up somewhat. Thor blinks in disbelief, almost rendered speechless. “No?”

 

“No,” Loki says again, swallowing. “Not now.”

 

“I own you!” Thor roars, when his shock abides and he finds his voice again. “I can do with you what I like!”

 

“Please let me go,” Loki says.

 

“Does that bother you, to be reminded of your station? Does that wound your pride?” Thor sneers, giving Loki a firm shake. “A slave with pride. Will wonders never cease.”

 

“I know what I am,” Loki spits back. “You won’t let me forget. Good enough to dance _for_ you but not _with_ you. Good enough to fuck but not to kiss."

 

Thor is taken aback by the sudden burst of venom, and isn’t sure what to do with it. Thor can hardly believe he’d let Loki’s willfulness go unchecked for so long. He had been too indulgent, had let the boundaries between them blurrr to an inappropriate degree. Thor should have never let Loki refuse him in the first place. Now Loki thinks he can get away with talking back to his master. His _king._

 

 “How dare you speak to me like that,” Thor growls. “Do you realize what I could have done to you  when I uncovered the truth about your magic? Hmm? Or what about when my father went into sleep and left you alone and friendless? The only thing that kept you from being thrown to a brothel was _my_ intervention. I showed you such mercy, you ungrateful little wretch. I saw to your pleasure when I could have had you by force. I took care not to hurt you, gave you a place in my harem. And you repay me with nothing but insolence…...”

 

All that had transpired between them flashes before Thor’s eyes - the sweet little smiles, the playful games, the passionate lovemaking - all a ruse. Loki’s guise of sincerity only incenses Thor further. Loki doesn’t love him, and Thor resents the whole charade that led him, stupidly, to believe he did.

 

“I see now I have indulged you too much.” Thor says. “You forget your place. You’re the same spoiled brat my father kept like a lapdog.”

 

“Hit me, my lord, and be done with it.” Loki says, brazenly holding Thor’s gaze, although he’s trembling too, and Thor can tell he’s afraid. It’s a challenge more than anything else, and Thor isn’t sure what Loki means to accomplish by issuing it.

 

Thor cocks his head. “You think I would?”

 

“You could not buy me with your trinket, so perhaps beating me will get the results you seek.”

 

“I am not that kind of man,” is all Thor can think to say. “I am not a brute.”

 

“The rumors about you suggest otherwise,” Loki whispers.

 

Thor knows as much, although for some unplacable reason, it stings hearing it from Loki. In his youth, when he’d been trying to prove his mettle to his father, Thor might’ve even prided himself on the label. He’d certainly done enough to earn it: putting down rebellions in his father’s name, leading his men into glorious battle, crushing Asgard’s enemies under the might of Mjolnir. He’d been keen to show his strength and courage then, which oftentimes translated into…....well, _brutality._

 

 _Heartless._ That’s what they called him - perhaps deservedly. The whispers still ring in his ears. _Heartless Prince Thor._

 

_Didn’t shed a single tear for his lost mother._

 

_Not a single tear, can you imagine?_

 

_Doesn’t he care?_

 

_He must be made of stone._

 

Something ugly awakens in Thor, something deep and dark and animalistic. He tightens his grip on Loki’s arm, and a low snarling noise escapes his throat. There’s a crack of thunder above them, and the prickle of electricity raises the hairs on Thor’s forearms.

 

“W-wait,” Loki stutters, sensing his mistake. "Master, wait -”

 

“Never mind,” Thor says icily. "If that's what they say, then it may as well be so."

 

It’s nothing for Thor to rip off Loki’s robe, ridding him of his protective cocoon all at once. Loki makes a startled whimper noise at the ungentle treatment, but does not resist as Thor wrenches away the fabric. He’s wearing his usual white shift underneath, the one he’d danced in earlier that evening. It enrages Thor to even look upon it. Thor pulls him close and buries his face into Loki’s neck, chasing the lingering scent of Loki’s perfume, and decides to ignore the way Loki tenses in his embrace. He should just get rid of Loki, really; he’s done away with slaves for much less. Or at the very least, Thor ought to punish him publicly. Flog him or brand him. _Mar_ him. String him up outside the palace walls, so all will know what lies in store for those who dare to insult the mighty King of Asgard.

 

Thor should do these things…..but he already knows he won’t. Because as loathe as he is to admit it, Loki has him utterly, irretrievably, _fatalistically_ ensnared.

 

“I cannot seem to slake my lust for you,” Thor whines into Loki’s shoulder. His breath smells acrid with alcohol even to his own nose. He rocks his half-hard cock into Loki’s hip to make his need known. “No matter how many times I fuck you, I am never satiated.”

 

At that, Thor tears off the remainder of Loki’s clothes in one go. The material rips easily under Thor’s bruising grip, and Thor delights in its ruin. Loki staggers when Thor does this, but Thor’s grip on him is too firm for him to stumble completely. He’s left nude save for a single gold armband, so perfect and beautiful Thor sometimes aches to look upon him. Loki does not object to Thor’s handling, and from the look on his face it seems he’s resigned himself to whatever punishment Thor intends to inflict. Thor triumphs in his submission…….for the most part. In truth, he didn’t think Loki would be subdued so easily. Thor is glad for it and he isn’t. Thor doesn’t know what he wants.

 

Thor bullies Loki over a nearby table, bending him over it so that his tummy is pressed flat against the surface and his ass is in the air. Thor growls at the sight: the pretty pink of his cunt lips, the smooth alluring curve of his ass, those long, lean thighs. Thor presses up behind him, already greedy for contact. If he can’t have Loki’s love, he might as well have _this._

 

With the hand that’s not keeping Loki in place, Thor works frantically to free himself from his trousers, grunting in frustration when he fumbles with the laces. It takes a few tries but at last his cock pops out, eager for attention. Thor gives himself a few cursory strokes, though he’s hard enough already. Using his thumb and forefinger he parts the fleshy lips of Loki’s cunt, so enticing in its warmth and wetness, and without much more ado he angles his cockhead against the opening and _thrusts._

 

The table rattles with the force of it, and Loki wails, his hands scrambling on the tabletop to try and grant himself some leverage. The clench is as exquisite as ever, and Thor’s head lolls back in bliss. He hardly gives Loki any time to adjust before he pulls halfway out and thrusts in again, coating his cock more thoroughly with Loki’s juices. How very fortunate it is that Loki gets so wet, even when Thor is rough with him. Thor hadn’t even done a single thing to arouse him and still he’s dripping! He must like it, Thor decides, and begins to fuck him viciously for it. Loki makes the most lovely breathy noises with each pass of Thor’s cock, either out of pleasure, or perhaps because Thor keeps knocking the wind out of his lungs.

 

Thor reaches forward to grab a fistful of that lovely raven hair, wrenching Loki’s head back so that his back is arched up at an uncomfortable angle. Loki moans brokenly.

 

“Are you enjoying this?” he asks, his voice low, taunting even.

 

“Y-yes,” comes the meek, breathless response, with an upwards inflection at the end, like Loki isn’t sure whether this is the answer Thor is looking for.

 

Thor grinds his cock in deep, watching intently as Loki’s features twist in response.

 

“And why is that?”

 

Loki swallows, the bob of his adam’s apple made more prominent from the way his head is wrenched back.

 

“Because,” he says, “I’m a whore.”

 

Thor stops moving for a moment, though he doesn’t release the grip on Loki’s hair. This wasn’t the answer Thor was expecting, but he’s sure Loki said it just to placate him.  And yet, the tone of Loki’s voice gives Thor pause: underneath the surface lies an undercurrent of bitterness so strong it’s practically _palpable._ It’s subtle, but it’s definitely there. Loki is fighting him, even now.

 

Thor makes a growling noise and issues a particularly punishing thrust, which Loki takes with only a sharp little gasp.

 

“Yes,” he agrees. “You are.”

 

Thor lets go of Loki’s hair and Loki immediately falls forwards over the table, panting heavily.  On a whim Thor pulls out, and without further fanfare repositions his cock at Loki’s arsehole. The sight alone makes Thor hiss: the head of his cock so red and angry against Loki’s tiny little hole, rubbing, teasing, but without the force necessary to penetrate. Loki gets his arms under him and rears up again but Thor easily holds him down, shushing him in a manner that is too sharp to be soothing. He hadn’t done it like this with Loki, but he’d often fantasized about it, and he figures now is as good a time as any to indulge. Thor is still worked up from their little spat, and envisions how satisfying it will be to spread Loki in such a way.

 

 _You will do for me what I could never ask of any high-born wife of mine._ Thor isn’t sure if he says it or merely thinks it.

 

 He spits at Loki’s hole to ease the way a bit, and uses his thumb to work open the resisting muscle. Although Thor is still incensed, it is not his wish to injure Loki. Then again, neither does he wish that Loki _enjoy_ this; such is Loki’s duty to him, and Thor’s to take by right. And if Loki utters a single word of protest, Thor will truly show him what it means to incite the King of Asgard's wrath.

 

But Loki does no such thing; he lays still and compliant, motionless save for the rapid in and out of his breathing. Thor rewards him by running a hand his flank. If Loki decides to be good Thor won’t be cruel. Thor spits again, coating his cock thoroughly with wetness, though Thor thinks he’s already plenty slick with Loki’s own juices. Having worked Loki open somewhat, Thor retracts his thumb, and aligns his cock in its place.

 

The push in makes Thor see stars; he’d somehow forgotten how sweet this can be. He has enough of his wits about him to know to go slower than when he’d first fucked into Loki’s cunt, but even so, his onwards press is relentless, and Thor doesn’t stop until he’s fully sheathed within Loki’s clenching arse. Loki squirms and whines underneath him, but his abortive movements only serve to excite Thor further. Thor spreads Loki’s cheeks so he can sink in just that much deeper, and is doubly rewarded by the sight of Loki’s rim stretched taut around the base of his cock. He’s so fucking tight like this, it’s almost _too much_. Thor remembers a time when he used to fantasize about doing exactly this, back when Loki belonged to his father and was utterly beyond Thor’s reach. Given how Loki flaunted himself around in those days, the fantasy often had a vengeful bent, thought in his mind Loki always ended up screaming for more.

 

Well, Loki is now his to do with as he pleases. Fantasy made real. The thrill of it spurs Thor on.

 

With Loki beginning to loosen, Thor fucks in selfishly, chasing his own pleasure, his balls tightening with the urge to come. Loki deserves this, Thor thinks to himself. For making him feel the way he does.

 

Thor’s climax hits him like a great tidal wave, powerful and overwhelming. Pleasure courses up and down his spine and he roars, thrusting into Loki erratically as he spills inside him. It’s good, better than he thought it’d be. How could it not? He got what he wanted, didn’t he?

 

Orgasm clears the fog in Thor’s mind somewhat; he takes a few deep breaths to collect himself, then pulls out with a gentleness he hadn’t exhibited earlier that evening. Loki’s hole, once so immaculate and virginal, is now puffy and red from use, and probably quite sore. A trickle of come seeps down towards his cunt - further testament to their debauchery. It’s not like Thor isn’t pleased with his handiwork, but even before his orgasm wears off a niggling thought begins to worm its way into his mind. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so rough…..maybe he should have fetched some oil. He’d let himself get carried away. It _was_ good, Thor decides, although not entirely what he expected. Loki will come to like it, in time.

 

Loki crumples to his knees as soon as Thor releases him. He’s silent, not a single word of complaint or protest; his face a blank mask under that thick black veil of hair. He merely reaches for the remnants of his clothes and carefully gathers them against his naked chest. His hands tremble as he does so.

 

Thor tucks himself back in his trousers and clears his throat, an unfamiliar sinking feeling settling into his gut.

 

“You’re to dance tomorrow night at the banquet,” Thor says, business-like, as though none of that had just happened. “You know this?”

 

Loki nods once, holding himself tighter.  He looks very small indeed.

 

“Right,” Thor says.

 

And that’s when Loki finally glances up at him. It’s only a brief moment, but even so, the image is instantly seared into Thor’s memory: Loki’s eyes wet with tears that won’t spill; wide with anger, hurt, fear, and above all, _hatred._

 

The image of Frigga pops into Thor’s mind. He wonders what she’d think of him now.

 

"I do not wish to be cruel to you." Thor blurts out, unsure of how this encounter had spiralled so far out of his control. It’s the last thing he says before he finds himself hurrying out the door, towards his own private rooms, without looking back, and scattering pearls underfoot.

 

***

***

***

***

***

 

_It’s under the dim, sickly light of a crescent moon that Loki makes his way through the ice-gardens, silent as a shadow, his footsteps light and swift. He knows the palace guards’ routes by now, has studied them intently for weeks, and knows just the path to take to avoid detection. His breath is humid and foggy in front of him, but otherwise the night air is still, biting cold but windless. The perfect night for an escape, Loki thinks ironically._

 

_It’s almost too easy to reach the side gates unnoticed, and it’s nothing for Loki to render himself invisible to slip by the night watch. He only has so much time before Helblindi notes his absence, so Loki quickens his pace, hurrying deeper into the darkness beyond the palace walls._

 

_He shakes off his invisibility as two dark figures materialize in front of him._

 

_“Loki,” one of the figures says, sounding like he thought Loki wasn’t going to show. In truth, Loki almost hadn’t. But he figured he owed Ulfr the courtesy of telling him his decision face-to-face, especially since this whole thing had mostly been Loki’s own idea._

 

_Ulfr looks Loki up and down, and the relief in his voice soon fades to suspicion. He tightens his grip on his boar-steed’s reins. “Where are your bags?”_

 

_“I’m….not coming with you,” Loki says without preamble. It’s harder to say than he thought it’d be._

 

_Ulfr’s face turns dark, menacing."What!?"_

 

_“Shhhh,” Loki hisses, looking back fleetingly towards the gate he’d just passed through. He turns back to Ulfr with a frown, “There’s been a change of plans. I’ve been…. betrothed.”_

 

_“To whom?”  Ulfr takes Loki by the shoulders, gripping him firmly, and bends over slightly to meet Loki’s eyes. “Who has laid claim on you, Loki?”_

 

_Loki chews the inside of his lip, not wanting to say it, but there would be no point in lying as it will be common knowledge soon enough._

 

_“Laufey.”_

 

_Ulfr makes a snarling noise, and releases Loki from his grasp._

 

_“Your own uncle,” Ulfr says in disgust. “Your own blood.”_

 

_Loki folds his arms around himself. “It’s not unheard of to preserve the royal bloodline." Helblindi's words in his own voice. "I hadn’t any choice -”_

 

_“Yes, I’m sure you needed much convincing.”  Ulfr sneers derisively. “The bearer of Laufey’s heirs. What your family wouldn’t do to get itself closer to the throne.” He shakes his head. “I knew you wouldn’t go through with this. I am a fool for letting myself be drawn in by your lies.”_

 

_“You think I want this?” Loki spits, waving his arms in emphasis, although he’s careful to keep his voice hushed to avoid drawing attention. “To play broodmare to my own uncle? This was Helblindi’s doing; he put me under the king’s eye, whispered sweet words of promise in his ear. I had no part in it.”_

 

_“But you go along with it willingly enough.” Ulfr bears his teeth, a gesture of disdain._

 

_Loki sighs tiredly. “This would have never worked, don’t you understand? I’d have been disowned in a heartbeat if I ran away with you. Helblindi would never release my inheritance to us. It was a mistake.” Loki’s voice goes quiet. “This was all a big mistake.”_

 

_“You gave me your word,” Ulfr says._

 

_“I know,” Loki says._

 

_“You led me on. You made me believe we had a future together.”_

 

_“I know.”_

 

I thought we did, _Loki doesn’t say._

 

_“Loki,” Ulfr opens his arms, “Please.”_

 

_He reaches out his massive hand, and for a moment Loki is tempted to take it, Helblindi’s arrangements be damned. Loki does not love Ulfr, and he is quite sure Ulfr does not love him in return, but he has a formidable estate, and Loki does not find his company overwhelmingly disagreeable. They would be a good match…..if circumstances were anything other than they are._

 

_Loki shakes his head. “I’m…..I’m sorry.”_

 

_A long silence passes between them. Loki had expected Ulfr to be furious, but instead Ulfr stares somewhere off in the distance, quiet._

 

_“What if Laufey didn’t want you anymore?” Ulfr says tentatively, turning back towards Loki. “Would you come with me then?”_

 

_Loki laughs bitterly. “The arrangements have been made. I’m quite sure there is nothing we could do to deter him.”_

 

_“There is,” Ulfr says. “....If we consummated our union.”_

 

_Loki laughs outright at the outrageousness of it, then falls deathly silent when he realizes Ulfr is being quite serious._

 

_“You’ve lost your mind,” Loki says incredulously. “You’ve lost your damn mind.”_

 

_“No, it is perfect,” Ulfr insists, a crazy gleam forming in his red eyes. “We will consummate our union right here. Now. He won’t have you if you weren’t pure. I would have liked to have done it under more auspicious circumstances, but I fear this may be our only chance...... ”_

 

_“We are done,” Loki says, turning on his heels. “I’ll not entertain such preposterous notions. Farewell, Ulfr. I wish you well, but do not contact me again.”_

 

_Loki only makes it a few paces before he’s whirled around, gripped hard by his upper arms. Loki yelps in surprise, his hands flying up to shield himself, but Ulfr grabs them both. He’s stronger than Loki, taller too, and not for the first time, Loki curses himself for being so small._

 

_“What are you doing?!” Loki shouts. “Unhand me!”_

 

_“I’m saving you,” Ulfr says, like this is a completely reasonable course of action. “Or would you rather have him than me?”_

 

_Loki increases his struggles when he realizes what Ulfr intends._

 

_“Don’t you dare,” Loki hisses. “Don’t you fucking dare -”_

 

_Ulfr grunts with the exertion of restraining Loki. “This is the only way we can be together. You will thank me for this later. Cease your struggling, Loki.”_

 

_“Are you mad?!” Loki cries. “You’ll ruin us both!”_

 

_In his thrashing, Loki manages to wriggle a hand free. He draws forth a quick blast, forcing Ulfr back several paces.The attack doesn’t subdue Ulfr as much as Loki hopes, but it does give Loki an opening, which he uses to make his escape. He flees, going back the way he came, but the sound of Ulfr’s angry roar and heavy footsteps behind him makes him panic, and Loki does the only thing he can think to do: he summons a distress flare and shoots it into the sky. So much for remaining incognito._

 

_Loki is momentarily blinded by the sudden bright light, but it’s the incredible boom that’s more startling. In the distance, Loki hears guards shouting, having been alerted to the goings-on. It won’t be long now before someone will come to investigate._

 

_Loki makes it little further before he's hurled to the ground, lunged at from behind. Loki lands face first on the icy ground, winded and disorientated._

 

_“You had to make this difficult.” Ulfr growls, pressing Loki’s face into the snow. He grips Loki’s wrists behind his back to pin him in place, using his massive weight to his advantage. With his hands thus restrained, Loki can’t perform the gestures to summon another spell, so instead he redoubles his thrashing, trying vainly to buck Ulfr off. Vaguely, Loki remembers what it was like when he’d let Ulfr grope him in dark corridors and quiet corners, but only after he’d made Ulfr promise to allow him certain freedoms once they were mated.  Ulfr delighted in caressing Loki’s chest, ass, thighs; he’d plead for more favours, but Loki had always refused. He'd managed to steal a kiss or two, though. His touch was gentler then, and Loki hadn’t really minded it, especially when he believed Ulfr to be his only way out -_

 

_“I’ll still have you, I swear it,” Ulfr says hoarsely, obviously still not quite recuperated from Loki's attack. His other hand is skirting up Loki’s thigh, tearing at Loki’s clothes. Despite this, his voice is still somewhat calm, even.  “Properly, on a bed of white rabbit-furs, as though you were still intact. It pains me to do this, but there isn’t time -”_

 

_“Stop,” Loki shouts. “Ulfr!”_

 

_Ulfr makes a hushing noise and pries Loki's legs further apart._

 

_"Laufey will have your head for this," Loki tries, in a last ditch effort to stop this. ".......And mine."_

 

_There’s a long pause then, the only sound their jagged pants. Loki waits because there’s nothing else he can do, his heartbeat in his ears, his every breath laboured with Ulfr’s heavy weight atop him._

 

_Voices echo in the distance, closer now, and Loki begins to think he might make it through this unscathed. Oh, Helblindi will have his hide, that’s to be expected, but Loki will be preserved in the way that matters most._

 

_Then, abruptly, Ulfr’s fingers shove deeper, seeking entrance. Loki squirms to try and dislodge them, but to no avail. Immediately he feels an uncomfortable, painful pop, like something had ruptured inside him. Loki cries out, but his voice is weak, strained._

 

_“You bastard,” Loki sobs, as a warm trickle begins to seep down his thighs. “You sick bastard.”_

 

_“Send for me, when the time is right. I’ll still have you. I give you my word.” Ulfr says hurriedly into Loki’s ear, and retracts the violating fingers. “And I assure you, unlike some, I keep mine.”_

 

_At that, a great weight is lifted off his back, and Ulfr is gone, disappearing into the night upon his great boar-steed._

 

_Loki peels himself off the ice and rolls over onto his back.  He wipes at his eyes, expecting there to be more tears, but in truth he feels strangely calm, like a great burden has been lifted from his shoulders. He doesn’t have to look down to know there’s blood there - the blood Laufey would have demanded on their first night, as tradition dictates. Numbly, Loki thinks it a terrible waste to have his prize maidenhead popped in such a unceremonious, inelegant fashion. Not even in a proper hall, tch._

 

_The first guards arrive shortly thereafter, accompanied by Helblindi, who must have been alerted to Loki’s whereabouts by his distress flare. His ever vigilant, ever dutiful brother.  The one time Loki had actually managed to escape from underneath his watchful eyes and this is what he gets._

 

_Helblindi stops abruptly at the sight of Loki’s prone form in the snow. Realization soon dawns on him, his face turning a shade of grayish blue. Loki merely lies there, exhausted beyond reckoning and unwilling even to move._

_“Loki,” Helblindi whispers, “What have you done?”_

 

 

_***_

_***_

_***_

 

 

Loki fiddles with the hem of his dance costume, picking at a stray thread, and frowning when he accidentally unravels part of the seam. There isn’t time to fix it, so Loki just lets it be, and instead peeks out from behind the curtain into the assembled crowds beyond. There’s a decent amount of courtiers present, although nowhere near the crowd that had been at the coronation. Thor is there too, up on his royal dias, speaking to a blonde woman - Amora, probably, although Loki can’t really tell for sure from his vantage point. This banquet is for the Ambassadors from Vanaheim, with whom Amora is related. Loki makes a distasteful face.

 

“Are you alright?” A chorus girl asks him, and Loki turns towards her.

 

“I’m fine.” he says, not bothering to put in the effort to make it convincing. Loki feels sluggish and he knows he probably looks it too. He hadn’t slept the night before - too many memories swirling  in his mind, granting him no rest. His head throbs with weariness, and he can feel it behind his eyeballs. How he’s expected to put on a decent performance in his current state, he doesn’t know. He didn’t think Thor would still make him perform after what happened last night.

 

The girl casts him another pitying glance. “You’re shaking- ”

 

“I said I’m _fine!”_

 

Loki is taken aback by the sharpness in his own voice. He’s on edge, clearly, having already snapped at the woman who’d dressed his hair earlier that day. The girl shuffles off with what sounds like a mumbled curse.

 

Loki huffs, turning back around to peer out the curtains. He’ll be on next, after those acrobats. He watches them without really _seeing,_ and fidgets with his restrung pearl necklace. They weren’t able to retrieve all of the pearls, so the necklace is shorter than it used to be. For some reason Loki finds this perversely satisfying.

 

It had been a gamble, refusing Thor’s gift like that. Loki hadn’t really thought it through at the time; his wounded pride had driven him to do it more than anything else. And for a moment, it was worth it to see the baffled look on Thor’s face. Ha!

 

But more than that, Loki did it to _send a message._ A high consort would not tolerate being groped at in public; why should he? Loki knew he’d never become Thor’s confidante if he could not demand his respect. He’d thought to train Thor how to treat him. Loki may be a slave, and a whore at that, but let it never be said that he didn’t have a _spine_.

 

 Loki wishes he’d forced himself to eat earlier that day, although he'd been hard-pressed to summon any appetite. He feels lightheaded now, and hardly has the energy to put on a performance. Nonetheless, he takes the floor at the centre of the court when he is cued, positions himself, and angles his nose in the air. In his head he’d imagined himself strutting out onto the floor and staring defiantly into Thor’s face. But now that the moment has come, Loki simply can’t muster the will to do so.

 

 It is Amora up there on the dias, keeping Thor company, Loki can make her out now. Loki feels sick.

 

_You are nothing but a replaceable whore. There are a thousand more just like you waiting to take your place._

 

Loki begins his dance when the music begins. He starts slow, building momentum when the drums pick up in rhythm. Loki tries to hide the wince at the way his movements exacerbate the dull ache in his backside - a not-so-subtle reminder of just how little Thor regards him. Loki doesn't know what he expected. He _is_ just a slave, after all; why _wouldn’t_ Thor fuck him like one?

 

_Dance in my court. dance in my bed……._

 

Was the experience of it any more humiliating than all those times Thor had forced himself upon Loki, pried his legs apart and took his pleasure without any care for Loki’s wellbeing? Or those times Thor had simply ordered Loki upon his cock as he reclined lazily, while Loki rode him to completion? Perhaps not; from the start, sex with Thor was hardly a mutualistic affair. Loki never came out unscathed, even when Thor was careful with him. There were always bruises, or love marks, or other such indicators of Thor’s passion on Loki’s flesh. Like the storms he brings, Thor is overwhelming, his lust terrible and awesome.

 

Still, something about the encounter left an especially foul taste in Loki’s mouth. Thor was punishing him. That’s what that was. Putting him in his place. He could have done far worse, too, if he really wanted. Beaten him, or maybe even sent him back down to the Underground. Loki shivers at the thought.

 

It could hardly be counted as a punishment at all, given Loki’s purpose in Thor’s household. That’s what Loki’s here for, isn’t it? For bringing Thor pleasure? Thor just wanted to drive the point home, in that special, _visceral_ manner of his. Pfft.

 

Loki had been _so close_ to breaking him too, _so close_ to obtaining the kiss he’s been longing for.  Thor’s normally stony resolve had cracked, weakened no doubt by Loki’s honeysweet words and wide, wet eyes. He’d had Thor where he wanted him, vulnerable in a way Loki had never seen before. Loki _needed_ that kiss. Not only for what it would mean for his mission, but……..but…...just _because._ It feels important, somehow.

 

Then he’d gone and ruined all his progress in one fell swoop. There’s no way Thor will let Loki sleep with him after this, let alone _kiss_ him. Loki just had to press his luck, didn’t he? He’d pushed Thor too far, demanded too much. Loki always was a risk-taker; it’s what got him into trouble in the first place. Loki tries to think where it had all fallen apart, where things went so horribly awry. Trying pinpoint his mistake had served no purpose but to keep him up at night, tossing and turning, unable to find rest. Thor is just too bloody unpredictable. Perhaps Loki was destined for failure from the beginning. Not just with regards to Thor, but with his whole damned mission. He was probably doomed the very wretched moment he was born.

 

Amora is saying something to Thor, leaning in close to whisper in his ear. Loki only gets a brief glimpse up to the dais but he’s pretty sure that’s what he saw. Thor is turned towards her, listening intently. Is Thor even watching?

 

 _He probably kisses her on the mouth_ , Loki thinks. _And_ _I’m just the whore he likes to fuck in the ass._

 

Loki knows he isn’t going to make the tumbling pass before he even lands it. He can tell by the way his body is positioned in the air; he’s done this enough times to know that he’s crooked, and his feet aren’t where they’re supposed to be. Loki’s adrenaline spikes at the realization that yes, he isn’t going to make it. He’s going to fall. In front of everyone. In front of _Thor._

 

The actual event of it is still a shock, even though Loki braces himself for it. No pain registers, at first; it all happens so fast Loki’s mind has to take several moments to catch up to the signals his body is sending. The sudden inertia is what strikes Loki first: where only a second before he had been leaping and somersaulting, now, he lays in a crumpled heap in the middle of the floor. His head spins; he feels dizzy and disoriented, like he’s in the process of waking from an exceptionally bad dream. Next comes the shooting pain up his leg, catapulting him into grim reality. Loki cries out and writhes on the ground. The pain sears like nothing else Loki’s ever experienced, and Loki’s eyes well with tears. It’s his ankle. Probably broken, Loki thinks frantically. _Broken._

 

As Loki becomes more and more lucid what next becomes apparent to him is the silence in the hall. The musicians have stopped, and all around him the crowd murmurs: an ominous all-surrounding din. Loki knows he can’t get up and so he lays there, resigned, his neck burning with humiliation. The only thing he can really do is hide his face so the entire court won’t see him cry. He can’t believe he let himself fall. He _never_ falls. Hysterically, Loki envisions Angrboda looming over him, shaking his head in disappointment.

 

 _“He’s hurt!”_ Someone shouts in the distance. _“Send for a healer!”_

 

“Are you alright?” a girl asks in a funny accent, her hair a riot of blonde curls about her head. She is crouching over him, but he’s only just noticed her now.

 

Loki blinks up at her, and a stream of tears leaks down his temples.

 

“My ankle….” Loki moans.

 

“Don’t move,” She smoothes her hand over his hair. “Don’t move.”

 

Others are gathering around him, mainly other dancing girls and performers, but also a few attendants too. Loki hates this, having them all come to witness his humiliation. Loki contemplates rendering himself invisible, but even so, he’d have no way of getting himself off the floor unassisted. He lets the blonde girl cradle his head, even though he’s not at all comforted by the gesture.

 

In his haze, he hardly even notices the small throng of onlookers being parted, and Thor suddenly appears, standing so, so much taller than the rest. Thor reaches down towards him, and -

 

Loki recoils with an intensity that surprises even himself. It’s an instinctive reaction, heightened by the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. His body jerks in the girl’s grasp, away from Thor’s looming figure. He can’t help it. Thor is _intimidating,_ sometimes.

 

Around him, the female attendants stare up at Thor, their eyes wide, knowing, like they can sense Thor had done _something_ to merit Loki’s reaction. There are rumors about the king, after all, and Loki knows many of them aren’t so nice. The blonde girl holds Loki just a tad tighter, and everything goes deathly quiet.

 

Thor immediately straightens, his eyes shifting to and fro, visibly uncomfortable under their scrutiny. His cheeks pink, almost abashed, and if Loki didn’t know any better he’d say Thor was flustered. 

 

“Right,” Thor says, clearing his throat. He quickly composes himself, and when he speaks again, it’s in his usual, commanding tone. “Send for a Healer. My _best_ healer. Loki has been injured.”

 

“Majesty,” they all reply in unison. No one has yet to move.

 

Thor’s face goes even redder, and in any other situation Loki might’ve found the sight amusing.

 

“Well, what are you waiting for?! He’s hurt!” Thor snarls, setting everyone in motion. There’s a flurry of activity around him, but it’s hard for Loki to focus on anything or anyone in particular. His body feels so heavy. His eyelids sink closed, but not before Loki catches a glimpse of his foot jutting out at an odd angle.

 

“Up you come,” one attendant says gently, threading his arms underneath Loki’s neck to help scoop him off the floor. It hurts to move, and Loki whimpers.

 

“Careful with him,” Thor interjects, his voice sounding more and more distant, muffled, like he’s speaking through a wall. “He is an inmate of my harem…….”

 

Loki winces when he’s set on his good foot, and he knows for certain he’d topple over were it not for the two attendants holding him up. Nausea hits him all at once, and he squeezes his eyes shut against the sensation. It’s better than acknowledging the onlooking crowds, whose murmurs still echo in the hall. When Loki blinks his eyes open again he the room is positively _spinning_. His knees feel weak.The pain is unbearable.

 

 _I really should have eaten today,_ is the last thing Loki thinks before his body goes limp and his world goes black.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls be gentle with me 
> 
> That had to happen so that everything will get better in coming chapters. I promise! :D


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you know when you imagine a fanfic scene in your head at like 3 a.m. on a tuesday and you're like, MAN I HAVE TO WRITE THAT, I HAVE LITERALLY JUST MADE MYSELF CRY, THAT IS BRILLIANT, I AM A GENIUS and then you realize in order to write it you have to pen like 60k worth of lead up?  
> yeah. this is that scene.  
> I really struggled to make it come out the way I saw it in my head, but I'm quite pleased with how it turned out. as per usual, apologies for errors. I have officially made myself cross-eyed.
> 
> thank you to my eternal loves buck buck, maryandmathew, loki-on-mjolnir, and of course my bby dangereuse (who we must all blame for everything) 
> 
> and thank you to all my commenters and cheerleaders who kept me motivated during my long absences <3 love you all! hope you enjoy.

_Loki knew the mages would be thorough, but not_ this _thorough._

 

_“You’re not going to cry, are you,” Helblindi says from the doorway, his nose crinkling._

 

_Loki can’t even summon a retort; he’s speechless, unable to pull himself away from the sight in front of him. The face in the mirror simply isn’t his. Loki prods at his cheeks where his heritage lines once were, the skin there now alabaster instead of a deep azure blue. He looks so….so…...Aesir. Loki supposes his features are essentially the same as they were before -  the same sharp cheekbones, straight nose, high brow - and yet, his face is that of a stranger. Loki has become unrecognizable, even to himself. His kind identify each other by the raised ridges on their skin - their heritage lines - and without them, Loki feels like a blank slate. The creature in the mirror is has no past, no ancestry, no kin, no relations, no identity. His freshly-minted green eyes stare back at him, wide and frightened._

 

_Loki has never felt so unmoored. He’s as an anchorless ship, lost amidst turbulent seas._

 

_“I don’t look like me,” Loki says at length, still fixated on the reflection in front of him._

 

_“That’s the point,” Helblindi says. “You will be safer, disguised thusly."_

 

 _Loki’s eyes flit down. It was one thing to agree to this mission….quite another to put it into action. Given how outrageous this whole thing is, Loki hadn’t expected it to ever come to fruition. And especially not so soon - only a month has passed since Helblindi first informed him of his plan and this day, when two seidr-wielders had come to erase Loki's selfhood. Somehow Helblindi found a contact in Vanaheim - a lord by the name of Grandl - who, by some incredible stroke of luck, was both due to host the Allfather_ and _amenable to a bit of extra Jotun gold. Loki doesn’t know how much money Helblindi spent to bribe Loki’s way in, but he’s sure it was substantial._

 

_The whole thing is absurd. Impossible._

 

_“I can’t do this,” Loki whispers._

 

_“You must,” comes Helblindi’s flat reply. He comes up behind Loki and rests a massive hand upon his shoulder. “The arrangements have been made, your passage to Vanaheim secured. We may never have this chance again.You agreed."_

 

_"I know," Loki says bitterly, though he's not sure why he ever did. Loki supposes that the prospect of taking control of his own destiny - even in this foolhardy, reckless way - had proven too tempting to pass up. Loki has been in limbo for the last ten years. He was starting to think Helblindi had abandoned him with Angrboda…...which may not have been the worst thing, when Loki thinks about it. When he was called back to his brother’s house after so long in exile, Loki expected it was because Helblindi had finally selected a mate for him. Indeed, there was one suitor - a lord thrice Loki’s age, the governor of the northernmost lands in Jotunheim. Loki heard that the isolation had driven him a bit mad. The ice fields surrounding his fortress are so impenetrable hardly any Jotunn dare to venture there._

 

_The lord was willing to overlook Loki’s tainted past and forfeited dowry…...for a different sort of price. Heirs. Several heirs. Ten at least, as so few younglings survive to adulthood at the best of times, let alone in such a harsh, inhospitable environment. Loki would spend the rest of his fruitful years pregnant to meet that quota. And if something went wrong during his pregnancy or labour, there would likely be no seidr-healers present to alleviate his suffering. The thought of labouring to bring forth children under such circumstances filled Loki’s heart with despair. Loki would surely die up there on the wastelands - of infection, or boredom, or misery. Anything would be better than that._

 

_Nothing in Loki’s life has ever been of his own making. Embarking on this mission could not be called freedom by any stretch of the imagination, but at least it offered some possibility….._

 

_"I know you are afraid," Helblindi says, oozing a gentleness that is anything but genuine. He pets Loki’s hair, but his touch makes Loki's skin crawl, "You'd be a fool if you weren’t. But remember why we are doing this."_

 

_Loki swallows, his throat becoming uncomfortably tight. He hates the way Helblindi says it - loftily, like it’s some grand sacrifice on behalf of their people. Let him not forget what Loki’s motivations are._

 

_"I never want to see or hear from you,” Loki says lowly through his teeth. “I want you to release my inheritance to me. I want my estate. And I tell you now I would die happy if I never had to look upon your cursed face again."_

 

_At this, Helblindi ceases his ministrations, but doesn't pull away completely. If he is surprised by the intensity of Loki's venom he certainly doesn't show it. He stares  back at Loki blankly through the mirror, then finally removes his fingers from Loki’s hair._

 

_"You have my word," is all he says._

 

_Loki clenches his jaw, forcing himself to look.upon his pale-faced reflection. It is done, it is settled. He will either succeed in this, or die trying. As it stands, there is nothing left for him in Jotunheim._

 

_“Then, my brother,” Loki says, spitting the word off his tongue, “I will find you your Casket.”_

 

***

***  
***

 

Loki is having one of those dreams again.

 

He knows it’s a dream because he knows he’s not asleep. Not completely, anyway. His rest is fitful, as it often is. Bad memories, like dust, can never be swept away completely. All it takes is a little turbulence to send them into a flurry again. They get everywhere, memories do. Into little nooks and crannies where they think they can't be seen. Building up over time. Layer upon layer. His blue skin stained grey with it.

 

Loki tosses about in his harem bed, whimpering softly. Something is off. He's being watched. Is this part of the dream too? Loki can't be sure. He wills his eyes to open.

 

 _Focus_ , _damn_ _you_.

 

His heart begins to race when he realizes it isn’t a dream: there is someone in the room with him, a dark, massive figure looming over his prone body.

 

In a fit of panic, Loki scrambles backwards so fast he smacks the back of his head against the far wall. The resulting pain makes him see stars, but also brings him to complete lucidity. The assailant moves forward slightly, enough so that a beam of moonlight illuminates half his face. 

 

“Peace, Loki,” Thor whispers, sounding slightly alarmed. He crouches down between Loki’s legs. “It’s just me.”

 

He rests his hand on Loki’s shin and strokes it as if he means to calm him, but it is a wasted effort. Knowing it’s Thor does nothing to lessen Loki’s anxiety. Loki breathes heavily, skittish, though he does not attempt to move away from Thor’s touch. There is no point in trying to evade it. Even if he could escape this place, he would not get far on one good foot.

 

There’s a long moment when they simply stare at each other in the darkness; neither willing to speak first.

 

“I do want to kiss you," Thor says at last.

 

Thor hooks his arms under his thighs and gently tugs Loki towards him. Loki yelps, but only out of surprise, for Thor had taken great care not to pain his ankle. Thor rests himself between Loki’s bare legs - Loki had never taken to wearing sleep-clothes - though now, Loki wishes he had worn _something_ to bed. Lying here utterly exposed under Thor’s gaze is making him feel very vulnerable indeed _._ Thor himself is wearing little more than sleep pants and an open, silken robe. His hair is a tangled mess, and Loki wonders fleetingly if he too has had trouble sleeping this night. 

 

Loki props himself on his elbows, and peers down at Thor in bewilderment.

 

“What are -” Loki croaks, but the words die on his tongue the moment Thor dips his head down and licks a stripe up Loki’s cunt lips.  

 

“ _Ah,”_ Loki gasps, his head lolling back as a spasm of white-hot pleasure courses up his spine. His fingers tighten in the bedsheets, and he instinctively grinds up to meet that wet, slippery pressure.

 

This seems to have been the reaction Thor was looking for, because he does it again - though not before first peeking up at Loki and shooting him a slight, almost sad smile. And then he does it again, growing bolder with each pass of his tongue. And then _again._ Loki squirms, muffling his cries into his palm so as not to alert his harem neighbours to the goings-on. Thor’s tongue is warm and soft, and devious in its machinations, while Loki has never felt _anything_ like this before - nothing else could possibly compare. Though he’d sometimes daydreamed about what this might feel like - having heard of such lewd acts from older, more worldly Jotun - he never thought it would be like this. He certainly would have never imagined that Thor would perform it…..and even if he did, Loki can’t fathom him ever doing it for a _slave_ ….

 

Emboldened, Thor begins to lick him in earnest, his beard prickling Loki’s sensitized flesh. Using one hand to stroke Loki’s hard cock, the other to keep a firm hold on his thigh, Thor picks up the pace, lapping into Loki with more fervour than before. His kisses become deeper, sloppier as he dips down between Loki’s lips to suckle at the delicate flesh within.  He’s so eager and enthusiastic Loki can’t help but think Thor is enjoying this too. And that is quite the notion indeed, given how selfish he is in every other regard.

 

“T-Thor,” Loki squeaks, rolling his hips against Thor’s open mouth and sinful tongue. This feels like a fever dream, hot and hazy, made more surreal by the fact that it’s Thor doing this, _Thor,_ the god-king of Asgard, his master, his enemy -

 

Loki moans aloud when Thor laps at his opening, daring even to prod at it with the tip of his tongue. Loki writhes, unable to keep his fingers from knotting themselves into Thor’s golden hair. He just needs to keep Thor _there,_ right there, where he needs it most _._ Loki has never felt so desperate.

 

Abruptly, Thor stops stroking Loki’s cock, and Loki whines at the loss, bucking his hips into the tight clench that, regrettably, is no longer there.  But Thor does not leave him wanting for long, and instead buries two fingers into Loki’s wet entrance, curling them in a way he knows Loki likes. Loki moans at the sensation, his toes curling on either side of Thor’s head. Without any further ado, Thor fuses his mouth back onto the seam of Loki’s cunt, laving it with his tongue over and over at an almost punishing pace, for truly Thor is a man not known for his tenderness. It’s almost _too much,_ and still, Loki’s fingers clutch tighter in Thor’s hair in a wordless plea for more. Thor responds eagerly, redoubling his efforts with the singular goal of making Loki come.

 

 _“Please_ ,” Loki all but sobs, for he can feel the warmth building in the bottom of his belly, and indeed Loki knows he’s on the verge of climax. When it finally crashes over him, Loki cries out, unable to muffle himself any longer. Loki sees stars behind his eyes. The pleasure is unrelenting, and Thor does not stop until Loki is spent, wrung out and oversensitive. Loki collapses back into his mattress, panting and dazed, and not altogether sure whether he’s still dreaming or not.

 

Having accomplished his task, Thor sheds the remainder of his clothes and climbs up between Loki’s wantonly splayed legs until his head is level with Loki’s. Though he is still reeling from his orgasm, Loki can tell Thor’s cock is hard. He feels it against his thigh, indomitable as ever, and very much in need of attention. He’ll be wanting his release too, Loki knows. Thor breathes heavily, his hair a disheveled mess where Loki had been gripping it, a dewy sheen of sweat upon his brow. But there is also an uncharacteristic _neediness_ about him that catches Loki off guard: it's in his eyes, silently pleading, as if seeking Loki's assent. Loki's never seen him like this before. If Loki had more of his wits about him he would have thought to exploit it somehow. It's not like Thor to be so......open.

 

But in this moment, Loki has not a mind for scheming. Instead, he sees in himself the same level of desperation.

 

 _Please,_ Loki’s not sure if he says it or just thinks it. His hands reach for Thor, pulling him closer. _Please._ His eyes water with how badly he needs it. Loki doesn’t think he could take it if Thor refuses him now. Loki is a hair’s breadth away from crumbling completely -

 

Thor closes the distance between them and kisses him, at last.

 

It _should_ feel like success -  just another small victory bringing Loki closer to his ultimate goal; one more way Loki has shown Thor to be a sentimental fool, easily manipulated, swallowing every lie Loki has spoon-fed him. It _should_ be the culmination of everything Loki’s been working towards since Odin died, his moment of triumph - proof that not even the King of Asgard is impervious to his charms.

 

That’s what he thought it would be like, anyway.

 

But now that it’s happening, Loki feels none of these things. All he knows is the warmth of Thor’s mouth against his own, deeply fulfilling in a way Loki didn’t think it would be. It's as though they are finally meeting each other halfway, coming together for the first time ever.  

 

Gratefully, Loki wraps his arms around Thor’s neck to keep him close, and lets out a quiet sob into Thor’s mouth. He can taste himself on Thor’s lips, the tangy musk of it unmistakable. Loki chases the taste with his tongue, further deepening the kiss. He coaxes Thor’s lips apart and hesitantly touches Thor’s tongue with his own, which Thor allows without any fuss. It feels good to do this without having Thor try to wrest control from him. Thor is receptive, for once; he seems content to let Loki set the pace and guide him.

 

What it feels like is…..comfort. Like a balm to allay the deep longing in Loki’s chest.

 

Thor adjusts himself and enters Loki in one swift, smooth thrust, causing them both to gasp. The initial stretch of Thor’s cock always comes as a surprise, usually because Loki is never quite prepared enough to take it. Thor is, above all, an impatient lover. Though he likes for Loki to enjoy their coupling, Thor has never held any compunctions about taking what he wants, regardless of Loki’s own desires or wishes. That he’s held off on his own pleasure for so long - long enough to provide Loki with an orgasm first - is quite unprecedented.

 

Loki is more than adequately prepared tonight, however - he’s practically _dripping_ with readiness. Thor draws out, then in again, coating his cock with Loki’s ample slick, and begins to fuck him in slow, even strokes. The dual sensations of being filled and being kissed is almost more than Loki can take. Thor never really cared for this position much before - probably because it affords the kind of intimacy that a king would not usually extend to a slave. Usually Loki is fucked from behind, pressed up against some piece of furniture or another, his clothes hiked up around his waist. Other times, Loki is made to service Thor as he reclines leisurely, with his mouth or with his cunt, as Thor directs. If Thor is feeling generous, Loki is allowed to come. But often Thor has neither the time nor the patience to trouble himself to that end. He’s a king, after all, and has far more important dealings to attend to. Early in their relationship Loki resigned himself to be grateful for any pleasure Thor deigned to grant him. Not having Thor brutalize him was blessing enough.

 

Well, no more - Loki swears that after this, if Thor wants to fuck, he’ll have to make sure to see to Loki’s pleasure. And kiss him, too.

 

This close, Loki can take stock of the little nuances of expression that flit over Thor's face. He is a handsome man, Loki must admit. Loki drags him down for yet another kiss, and is rewarded when Thor surges forward to return it with just as much enthusiasm, though he knocks his nose against Loki’s in his haste. He’s clumsy, and bitey too. For all that Thor enjoys a good fuck, he doesn’t seem to have been kissed all that much in his life. It dawns on Loki that this is probably the only sexual act in which Loki is more experienced.

 

From the way Thor’s hips are beginning to stutter in their rhythm Loki knows he’s on the brink of climax. Loki clenches his inner muscles around him to hasten Thor’s pleasure, and is rewarded when Thor makes a raspy noise and spills deep inside, burying his face into the crook of Loki’s neck. Thor pumps himself half-heartedly into Loki a few more times to ride out the rest of his orgasm, then goes limp as a deboned fish. He’s clammy with sweat atop Loki, and altogether much too heavy for Loki’s slim frame. Before Thor peels himself away, he cocks his head to seek out one more kiss, which Loki happily grants. This one is much more subdued than the kisses that came before, tempered by Thor's orgasm, though no less sweet. Thor's beard is starting to chafe at Loki’s skin, but Loki hardly pays it any mind. He’s _done it_ \- secured Thor’s kiss at last.

 

At length, Thor pulls out of Loki and settles at Loki’s side. His eyes droop, and he scrubs a hand over his face, sweeping his sweat-soaked hair off his temples. They shift around until they’re both comfortable, with Loki nuzzled underneath one of Thor’s arms and Thor on his back.

The cell falls into silence, but even after all that has transpired, the mood is not altogether relaxed. Neither has forgotten their last encounter, and neither knows exactly how to broach the subject. There is so much Loki wants to say, to ask, to demand - but he’s afraid to jeopardize the tenuous, unspoken truce they’ve just come to. So he lays there, chewing his lip, his head buzzing, still rather stunned about the sudden turn of events. Loki is not yet sure what this kiss will mean for his future, but at least now he can be reasonably certain that not all hope for him is lost.

 

“Your brother, I’d bring you his head,” Thor says into the darkness.

 

Of all the things Loki had envisioned Thor might say, this was certainly not one of them. The idea of it is so ridiculous that Loki struggles not to laugh.

 

Loki curls his head to look up at Thor. “What? Why?”

 

“Because he sold you into slavery,” Thor says solemnly, his brow furrowing. “Because he was your family and he betrayed you.”

 

Loki laughs, wistful. ”You would, would you?”

 

Thor shrugs a bit. “If it would make you happy.”

 

“Were it not for him I would have never met you," Loki points out.

 

“Yes.” Thor agrees, and falls silent once more.

 

Thor may be somewhat opaque at times, but Loki knows him well enough to deduce that this is his idea of an apology. A roundabout, convoluted one, perhaps - Thor’s way of acknowledging that being in his possession has not come without suffering on Loki’s part - but an apology nonetheless. Thor _would_ solve all his problems by bashing someone’s head in with his hammer.

 

“I’m sure I have no kin left,” Loki says, the lie coming out less fluidly than he’d like, “But thank you for the offer.”

 

Thor nods slightly, his mouth pressed in a firm line. He clears his throat, shifting in place as he does so. If Loki didn’t know any better he’d say Thor was _twitchy._

 

“How is your foot?” Thor asks, unsure, like he’s trying to speak delicately to Loki but isn’t quite sure how. He seems young all of a sudden; boyish even. Sheepishness does not sit naturally upon his face.

 

“It hurts,” Loki sniffs, petulant. But it's true; his ankle aches all the time, even with the painkilling teas and herbs they'd given him.  He can't go anywhere without his crutches, and even so, it's at a snail's pace. He’s reduced to hobbling to and fro like some cripple, too proud to ask for assistance. His rivals watch him and delight in his misery.

 

During especially intense bouts of self pity, Loki worries he'll never dance again, that his ankle won't ever be the same. And then what good will he be? Good enough for lying upon his back, but not much else.

 

Loki can't find any fault in the healers Thor sent him, though, so he says, “Healer Fjora is very knowledgable and gentle, she has taken very good care of me.”

 

Thor nods, his face grim. “It will be like it was never broken, I promise. I will do everything in my power to see you well again."

 

Despite all that has happened between them, Loki knows Thor means it. And Loki is simply too tired be angry, so he laces his fingers with Thor’s: a gesture Odin always used to like.

 

“Thank you,” Loki says sincerely.

 

Thor clears his throat, but allows his hand to be held.  “Strange you cannot heal yourself.” He comments, though haltingly.

 

“It doesn’t really work like that,” Loki explains. “I’m too used to my own magic. Immune to it. But  that same phenomenon is what keeps you from being fried by your own lightning.”

 

Thor's lips twitch upwards at the visual, then he turns somber once more.

 

“I always envied healers,” Thor says thoughtfully. “My magic - It’s - hard for me to control. Especially when I am without Mjolnir to channel it.”

 

“You’re very powerful," Loki agrees. "I sensed it in you right away. At times I touched you and I felt - “ Loki pauses, uncertain whether he should reveal this about himself, “Like my magic was drawn to yours. Calling out to you. Is that absurd?”

 

Thor shakes his head immediately. “No.” he says solemnly. “No, I don’t think that’s absurd at all.”

 

Loki smiles softly. It’s validating to hear Thor say so, without any hint of mockery or sarcasm for once. Loki resents how much he’d had to downplay his magic since he’d been discovered as a witch, making himself out to be something of a circus pony with an amusing (if somewhat mischievous) repertoire of tricks. But there is true magickal strength in him, Loki knows it, just as he senses the raw elemental power in Thor. In his mind’s eye, he sees himself and Thor, doing battle side by side, their magics as intertwined as their fingers are now.  That same vision comes to him often, in moments like this…..

 

“Would you show me your rabbit again?”

 

Loki blinks out of his reverie, turning to look at Thor.

 

“The rabbit,” Thor repeats, “I should like to see it again.”

 

Loki appreciates that Thor frames it as a request rather than an order, though he is not overly thrilled at the prospect. Revealing one’s totem is an intimate gesture, not performed lightly, and Loki regrets having done it for Thor when he did. But he’d made that choice under great duress, so he tries not to fault himself too much for it.

 

Loki can’t think of a reason to refuse Thor now. Not after the moments they’d shared this night.

 

Loki executes the gestures needed to perform the summoning spell; they are as familiar and as practised to him as tying his laces. The air between his fingers becomes thick and hazy, turning milky white, then iridescent. The formless smoke condenses, takes shape, and soon his rabbit materializes, gaining weight and mass, until at last it comes to rest on Loki’s chest. It sniffs Loki in greeting, clearly pleased to see its patron, though its exuberance is much tempered by the company Loki is keeping. Much like Loki himself, his rabbit is never completely at ease in Thor’s presence. Playfully, Loki picks it up and extends his arms, holding it high above his head, as he used to do when he was a youngling.

 

"What is it?" Thor asks, clearly awed.

 

Loki sets the rabbit back down on his chest and fondly pats its flank. "It's my totem. All seidr-wielding Jotun have them. They can be all sorts of creatures - boars, eagles, foxes, and the like - they are supposed to represent something about you."

 

"And yours is a rabbit."

 

 _Obviously_ , Loki wants to snark. But instead he pets his totem's ears and says, "Yes."

 

“Beautiful,” Thor says reverently, his eyes flit up to meet Loki’s. He smiles, his eyes crinkling, and a heavy pleasant weight settles in Loki’s stomach. "What does a rabbit represent?"

 

"Speed, agility," Loki answers, "Cunning, some might even say. It’s small so it must rely on its wits. But it's also related to illusion magic: a rabbit can render itself practically invisible by camouflaging against the snow."

 

There is more than a little irony in the fact that rabbits also change colour to match the seasons, shedding their white fur in favour of brown during the short summers.

 

  _It's because they are prey animals_ , Loki's mind supplies. _Just like I am._

 

“It’s…..an extension of me,” Loki goes on. “It feels as I feel. ”

 

The rabbit burrows deep against Loki’s chest, as though it could render itself invisible if it just kept still enough. Thor watches it carefully, his face open and inquisitive. Loki wonders idly what Thor's totem would be, if he had one.

 

Thor reaches out to touch it, but the rabbit wriggles away, kicking its paws out in distress until Thor retracts his hand. Loki hushes it until it calms again.

 

“It’s afraid of me.” Thor says flatly, like he’s both disappointed but not surprised.

 

“Yes," Loki concedes, for it would be futile to claim otherwise.

 

Thor squints at him in the darkness. “Are you afraid of me?”

 

“Yes,” Loki whispers. “Sometimes. Not always.”

 

“I hurt you,” Thor states matter-of-factly.

 

Loki falls silent at this. The truth weighs heavy on them both: Yes, Thor had hurt Loki. They both know it, it would do no good to elucidate.

 

“Not always,” Loki repeats at length.

 

Thor laughs bitterly. “Everyone is afraid of me.”

 

“It doesn’t always have to be so.” Loki dissipates his rabbit into wispy silvery smoke, though he immediately misses its comforting presence. "What if," Loki begins, turning towards Thor, "You be…. _Thor…._ and I be Loki.”

 

Loki says the name with great caution, knowing full well the fine line he walks, calling the King by name. But Thor does not object, so Loki continues.

 

“What if,” Loki steels himself, “You were just…. _you,_ when we’re together." Loki rests his hand on Thor’s chest. “You. _Thor._ Your true self. The man underneath the titles.Then I would not have to be afraid."

 

Thor makes a skeptical face, “And pretend I am not your king and master?”

 

“ _Yes,”_ Loki insists, intent and serious. “Forgo all pomp and ceremony, those empty gestures of deference. Talk to me, as you would a friend.”

 

“About what?”

 

“Anything,” Loki says. “If you have troubles -”

 

“And you’d give me advice, would you?”

 

The way he says it is sharp, almost _mocking,_ even. Loki’s not sure whether he meant it to sting as much as it does.

 

“I wouldn’t presume to give advice to a king.” Loki says softly. “Sometimes it’s good just to have someone to listen. I know that was a comfort for your father, to have someone to listen.”

 

“The man you knew was not my father,” Thor says icily.

 

Thor looks away, crossing his arms over his chest, and Loki’s mouth immediately snaps shut. The conversation, it seems, is over. Whatever easygoing companionship they’d shared just moments before has given way to fresh tension, and Loki kicks himself at his mistake. Thor has never reacted well to the mention of his father.

 

If Loki didn’t know any better, he’d swear there was a note of…. _jealousy_ in Thor’s voice. Loki wonders if the affection Odin had showered upon him is what soured Thor to him in the first place. Loki knows Thor despised him in the beginning - a hatred rooted in lust and jealousy. For the longest time Loki had thought Thor was jealous of Odin. Loki had not stopped to think whether Thor was jealous of _him._

 

Loki can’t think of anything to say, and so the small harem cell falls into an uncomfortable silence. They lay side by side, strangers once more, an immeasurable distance between them.

 

At length, Thor closes his eyes and sighs. His arms relax at his sides.

 

“Why are you doing this?” 

 

“Doing what?”

 

“ _This.”_ Thor waves his hand emphatically. “Acting like - like you care about me."

 

“Even a king needs a shoulder to lean on,” Loki answers, rather dumbly, but Thor’s lips only curl into a sneer.

 

"I'm not a fool, Loki. I know I’m a difficult man, and demanding.” He speaks heatedly, although his eyes are firmly fixed on the ceiling above. “I have been….ungentle with you in the past. You’re only being sweet to me for my favour and I’d prefer if you didn’t pretend otherwise. You would run out that door in a heartbeat if you knew no guard would stop you. You’d run far, far away from me and never look back. And I - " He grimaces, "I wouldn’t blame you.”

 

“I could vanish and disappear. I’ve done it before,” Loki offers. “I could run if I wanted.”

 

“And if you did,” Thor says, anger creeping into his voice, “I’d hunt you down, to the ends of the known worlds and back, because that’s the kind of man I am. So stop pretending like - like you love me, because I know you don’t.”

 

“I choose to stay here. With you.” Loki says.

 

Thor lets out a long, drawn out sigh. He finally meets Loki’s eyes, and the look there is so tired, so weary. When he speaks, the single word seems heavy on his lips: “Why?”

 

His eyes are pleading, like he hopes desperately Loki will give him the assurance he seeks.

 

“Because there’s good in you." Loki says softly."I saw it in your father and I see it in you.”

 

Thor scowls and looks away. “I’m nothing like him. And I’m nothing like my mother either.”

 

“I don’t know about that,” Loki says, rolling over to trace his fingertips down the slope of Thor’s profile. “You have her nose.”

 

Thor laughs a bit, albeit sadly, and doesn’t bat away Loki’s hand like he expects. This is the first he’s been able to recall Queen Frigga’s memory without sending Thor into a rage, so Loki considers it progress.

 

Loki’s fingers quest lower, over Thor’s lips, grazing all the way down to his chin.

 

“It is a pleasing face,” Loki concludes.

 

“Ah, I see, you stay because you find me handsome?”  Thor smiles softly. “Excuse enough I suppose.”

 

Then a melancholy air befalls him, and he sighs again, closing his eyes.

 

“You don’t believe me, do you,” Loki says flatly.

 

“No,” Thor says. “I don’t.”`                             

 

 _But I want to,_ is what’s left unspoken.

 

“Believe this, then.”  Loki says, shifting tactics.  “I bet you’ve been told _I love you_ by every bedmate you’ve had since you were old enough to fuck. I _don’t_ love you, Thor Odinson. In fact, when I first came to Asgard, I _despised_ you. Is that truth enough for you?”  Loki pauses to gauge Thor's reaction, and is darkly pleased at the look of utter speechlessness on his face. His eyes are almost comically wide, his eyebrows high on his forehead. It is deeply, deeply satisfying to tell him these things, so Loki goes on: "I think you’re a spoilt, stubborn, arrogant princeling, with the temper of a bull, and an ego to match. Difficult doesn’t _begin_ to describe how you are sometimes.”

 

Then Loki softens, tenderly sweeping a stray lock of Thor’s hair away from his face. There have been bad times, no question about that, but Loki cannot forget the way Thor’s laugh becomes uninhibited when he forgets himself, nor the way he sometimes looks at Loki. And Loki must be a fool for clinging to those fleeting moments like some lovelorn youth…. “But I also believe that you are a good man, deep down; I think you want to be a just and merciful ruler. And….I do think you care for me. Otherwise you would not be here. Am I right?” Loki asks quietly.

                                    ”

Thor stares at him a good long while, unblinking. But rather than make any acknowledgement, he turns away once more, sighing deeply. Loki could smack him out of frustration. Here he is  trying to bridge the gap between them, but Thor continues to push himself away…!.

 

Loki’s lips curl into a frown.

 

“Maybe you wouldn’t be so lonely if you let people get close.”

 

This, it seems, strikes a nerve. In one smooth motion, Thor rolls on top of him, pinning Loki down. For a moment, Loki panics, the memories of their last fateful encounter still fresh in his mind.

 

“I don’t need your pity,” Thor spits.

 

Loki swallows hard, fighting the urge to cower. “Then take my comfort instead.”

 

Loki lifts his lips to meet Thor’s, tentatively pressing a kiss there. Thor watches him carefully, but does not pull away when first Loki kisses him first on the corner of his lips, then full on the mouth. Loki begins lightly, easing him into the sensation. Though Thor is hesitant at first, he soon opens up to it, and kisses Loki back greedily, like he’s hungry - _starved_ for it. He chases Loki’s mouth when Loki sinks his head back on the pillow, a clash of lips and tongue, all desperation and no finesse.  

 

Thor’s grip on him loosens somewhat, and Loki uses the opening to rear up, coaxing Thor onto his back with a steady palm to Thor’s chest. Careful not to aggravate his ankle, Loki reverses their positions, so that Thor is lying flat and Loki is straddling his hips. Thor’s mouth is bitten, open; his expression almost dazed, golden hair splayed about the pillow. He’s also becoming hard again, and Loki worries this encounter will devolve into sex before he has a chance to speak his peace.

 

“Let me make you a deal,” Loki says, breathless, willing his voice to be firm. “I want you to name me your consort.”

 

Thor snorts lightly, disbelieving. But then he realizes Loki isn’t joking and his smile falters. “Why would I consent to such a thing?”

 

“Because I’m offering more than just….. _company_ ,” Loki says, the word sitting uncomfortably on his tongue. “I’m offering you something I think you’ve been seeking all your life.”

 

“And what’s that?” Thor asks tiredly. “Love?”

 

“I don’t know,” Loki snaps, defensive. “Maybe.”

 

Thor scoffs. “You’d love my crown. Nothing more.”

 

“And you'd love me for my body,” Loki fires back. “ _Whore_ that I am.”

 

Thor's mouth snaps shut at having that word thrown back at him. Perhaps now he will think twice before he uses such slurs against Loki - true though they may be.

 

Thus emboldened, Loki continues, “Let us have no misconceptions between us. If you want to believe that all I’m after is what your crown can offer, there is nothing I could say to convince you otherwise. So let my actions speak for themselves. I _don't_ love you, Thor Odinson." Loki cocks his head, suddenly contemplative, and his voice goes very quiet, “But I could, I think. If you gave me a reason to.”

 

Loki uses a finger to the chin to force Thor to meet his eyes. “Give me the chance to prove to you that what I’m offering is real: one year. One year of faithfulness. Bed me and no other, and let me sleep with you every night. Let me speak to you freely when we are alone, call you by name and kiss you. Treat me with the respect and dignity befitting of the Consort of the King of Asgard. And I will lie down for you willingly. I will never refuse you. I will let you have me in whatever way you desire. And in return, I will be forthright with my affection. You will never know another night of loneliness in my embrace.”

 

“I can already have you,” Thor reminds him.

 

Loki’s voice goes low: “I don’t think you enjoyed taking me against my will as much as you claim.”

 

Thor’s eyes flit to one side, chastised, so Loki goes on.

 

“You’ll still be my King and I’ll still be bound to obey you. I will ever be your dutiful, faithful slave.” Loki emphasizes this point by placing a kiss first on Thor’s jaw, then to the corner of his lips.

 

“At the end of the year, if you do not feel anything for me, I will step aside for any other lovers you choose to take, and I will continue to serve you in whatever capacity you see fit. But, if you do come to love me, I want you to make me your official Consort, and let me stay by your side.”

 

“And should I refuse?” Thor asks. “What then?”

 

“Well,” Loki says thoughtfully,his confidence beginning to deflate, “Nothing, I suppose. You will continue to fuck me as you like, and have me dance as it pleases you. Eventually you’ll tire of me and another pretty thing will catch your eye. I’ll languish here in this harem cell for Gods know how long and….”  Loki feels his voice begin to crack, his throat becoming uncomfortably thick, the bleakness of his future suddenly overwhelming. “You’ll forget about me, and after that, who knows what will become of me. But I must confess, I very much hope you’ll say yes because….you’re all I have.”

 

Hearing it out loud makes something in Loki’s brain snap. He’d been rambling, saying everything and anything he could think of to sway his target, without giving the substance of his words much contemplation. But something about those four words sets a fire alight in his mind, turning all other thoughts to ash. Loki is suddenly struck by how true it is: he is all alone in this world. All his hopes, dreams, his _future,_ are all wrapped up in Thor. _Thor -_  this man who is so mercurial and difficult, who would just as soon have Loki’s head on a pike as fuck him. Thor, who is selfish and arrogant beyond measure, who is reigned by his carnal appetites and his vicious temper.

 

If Loki can’t ascertain the location of the Casket, then what? Spend his days in this gilded prison and amuse Thor until he takes a real wife? Die lonely and forgotten, his days as a royal favourite long past?

 

“You’re all I have.” Loki says again, but this time his voice breaks completely, and to Loki’s own horror, he begins to sob.

 

Loki covers his mouth with his hands, but quiet whimpers escape nonetheless. His body shakes with it, his throat goes tight, and Loki squeezes his eyes shut. Loki has always been so careful to keep his tears to himself, to never let anyone witness his moments of weakness. But he can no longer hold back the floodwaters. Months and months of pent-up fear and loneliness have eroded his resolve. He’s tired, so tired. His ankle hurts. Not even thoughts of home bring him any consolation…...though admittedly, they never did in the first place.

 

Loki can’t believe himself and is honestly mortified that he let slip something so private. He can’t remember at what point his lies began to sound something like the truth. Maybe it was true all along.

 

From the way Thor goes stiff, it’s apparent that he’s never had a lover burst into tears on him before. He lays there, bewildered, looking more uncomfortable than Loki’s ever seen him. Though Loki could not have foreseen this happening, one would think Thor would do _something,_ at least - hold Loki close or kiss him....perhaps speak.a few words to soothe and comfort….. But Thor does none of these things. If anything, Thor looks like he wishes he were anywhere but _here,_ trapped underneath a hysterical pleasure slave.

 

“Well, this is embarrassing,” Loki murmurs between sniffles, trying not to make his disappointment too obvious. He mops at his eyes and laughs awkwardly at himself. What seemed like such a good idea mere moments before now sounds very, _very_ foolish indeed. “Forgive me. I’m making a mess of myself.”

 

“It’s alright,” Thor whispers softly. It's like he’s about to say something else - his mouth opens, there’s a telling pause in his breath...........but no. Thor must have all the empathy of a stone. Whether he’s even capable of feeling anything at all, Loki doesn’t know.

 

Dejectedly, Loki climbs off Thor and lays beside him, but doesn’t nestle into Thor’s side like he did before. Loki rolls over, away from Thor, and curls himself into his blanket. It’s quiet between them, too quiet, the only sound Loki’s occasional hiccough. As the minutes ebb away, the stillness becomes more and more unbearable, like a great weight laying over them both. With mounting hopelessness Loki realizes Thor must not want him as badly as he thought he did. He might not even want him at all, after this.

 

“Never mind,” Loki says at length, rubbing his face. His head is starting to throb, the pressure building behind his eyeballs. “I’m tired. I…..was not thinking clearly. I should not have been so presumptuous.”

 

Abruptly, Thor sits up. Loki can feel him move about at his back, but does not bother to peek over his shoulder. He knows Thor is dressing himself, getting ready to leave. He’s probably had enough of Loki’s pathetic little display, and Loki does not blame him.

 

Then he feels Thor’s hands slide under his waist.

 

“What are you doing?” Loki yelps as he is hefted up into Thor’s strong embrace, blanket and all. He scrambles to latch his arms around Thor to keep himself steady, lest he let himself fall and further damage his ankle. But Thor’s hold is secure, and his body is warm.

 

“Taking you to my bed,” Thor says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You want to sleep with me or not?”

 

Loki clings harder to Thor’s neck.

 

“Yes,” he breathes. “Yes, I do.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feels good, yes?  
> still a few chapters left >:D
> 
> Feedback is my world xox


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IM ALIIIIIIVE  
> My beloved readers, have some melodramatic trashy thorki idfic to ring in the new year! *throws confetti* sorry for the wait. I was very distracted by RL this last year - in a good way!!!!!!! 
> 
> Also, I’d like to issue a blanket apology for not replying to comments in a timely manner. I have no real excuse, other than that I’m dumb, and I promise to be better about it in 2017. But i truly do treasure each and every comment, kudos, anon message, poke and prod and inquiry. You guys help keep me motivated to finish this fic! Special thanks to maryandmathew, my beloved translator, whom I love dearly (and hello to anyone reading this in chinese!)
> 
> I title this chapter, “Teresa cant write a thorki without including a scene in which loki pukes on thor’s boots.”
> 
> Enjoy.

Once upon a time there was a king whose name was Thor.

 

Thor was just, handsome and much beloved by all. With the mighty hammer Mjolnir at his side, there was no enemy too great, no foe too powerful for Thor to overcome. King Thor kept the peace in the Realms, and brought prosperity to all that dwelt within it, just as his father had before him.

 

Now, sometime before Thor was crowned king, there came to the court of Asgard a foreign slave of unknown origin -  a slave who some called a witch. This slave so enchanted the king with his beauty and wit that, in time, he rose in rank to become Thor’s favourite concubine, and eventually his only consort.

 

The noblemen of Asgard were perturbed. That the King would choose a titleless slave as a consort was quite unheard of in the history of Asgard. Many had harbored the hope that the King’s eye would turn to one of their daughters - but such was not to be, for Thor’s affection was steadfast.The noblemen blamed the King’s witch-consort. What else could stoke the King’s unnatural infatuation but black magic?

 

It was also said - by those who harbored no such jealousies in their hearts - that perhaps this consort of Thor’s was something of a blessing. As a youth, Thor had been well known for his princely arrogance and hot temper - so much so, that many feared Thor’s reign would be tainted by  recklessness and wrath.

 

But these fears turned out to be unfounded. For, while Thor still had something of his old self about him, it was clear he had changed. Slower to anger and more inclined to seek counsel, Thor was as just a King as could be hoped for. Just as the late Queen Frigga had softened Thor’s father, it was concluded that this slave had softened King Thor.

  

Tales of the king’s devotion  - a devotion that transcended all barriers of race and class - travelled swiftly throughout Asgard. Bards composed odes in their honor, and travelling players reenacted their love story in villages throughout the land. The common people love a romance. Oft times the King and his companion could be seen riding in the Asgardian countryside, passing alms to the peasants they met along the way. It was said that a coin from the king’s dark-haired beauty brought good fortune.

 

The people cared not that this consort was  born a lowly foreigner and a slave. The king was made happy by his favourite, that was all that mattered.

 

_***_

_***_

_***_

_***_

_***_

 

"Fifteen hundred gold coin." Thor booms over his expense report.

 

Thor’s minister of finance shrinks, even as he stands over Thor’s shoulder. “That was the clothier’s bill, Majesty.”

 

“The _what?”_

 

 _“_ The….clothier’s bill. We thought you’d approved it….” he stammers. “The papers had your seal.”

 

Thor gets up immediately, slamming his books closed. He’s seen enough reports for today. Now he has more pressing matters to attend to.

 

_Loki._

 

***

 

It speaks to Loki’s sense of familiarity that he hardly flinches when Thor storms in, even as all his attendants cower in the face of Thor’s rage. Loki only sits up from where he’d been reclining, his eyebrows quirked in mild interest, as though he’d been expecting Thor for some time.

 

“Did you use my seal?” Thor bellows. “To go _shopping?”_

 

"Do you like it?" Loki smoothes over the filmy black fabric of his dress, his lips curl into a wide, smarmy grin. ”Imported from Alfheim. The finest quality in all the Realms. Their embroidery is exquisite….”

 

"You spent fifteen hundred of my coin. On that.”

 

"Of course not. But I could not decide between the green and the black. And then I thought…..why choose?”

 

"Loki….”

 

“And I needed new slippers to match…”

 

“Loki!”

 

Loki takes a sip of his tea casually. “I trust your meeting with the Princess went well.”

 

Thor is unmoored, briefly. Loki could give a man whiplash with a subject change like that.

 

“Council demanded I meet with....” Thor’s voice trails off. _Potential wives._ “....The dignitaries from Vanaheim, Princess Brynhilde amongst them. It’s my duty; I take no pleasure in it.”

 

“Yet you go along with it well enough,” Loki says, and Thor knows from experience he’s moments away from a full-blown sulk.

 

“Don’t change the subject. You’ve spent far beyond your allowance. I’ve half a mind to make you return every piece, and sell your magic books to pay the difference.”

 

Loki’s mouth drops in outrage.“You wouldn’t!”

 

Thor narrows his eyes. “ _Try me.”_

 

“Should not the Consort of the King of Asgard be splendidly attired?” Loki counters, and now Thor can tell for certain he’s upset. “If I am to command respect among your courtiers, I must dress the part. They keep touting princesses in front of you. They don’t take my position seriously. They still see me as little more than some…….” He crinkles his nose,”.....chorus dancer.”

 

Thor doesn’t like the way he says it -  with such contempt, as if he wasn’t once the most accomplished, mesmerizing performer Thor had ever seen. No mere chorus dancer to be sure.

 

Thor sighs. Where just moments earlier his temper burned hot, somehow, in the span of less than minute, Loki has disarmed him.

 

Thor seats himself on Loki’s footrest, taking his slippered foot in hand, and massaging it in a way he knows Loki likes. Thor has done this enough to be very good at it.

 

“I hardly think anyone would say that about you now.”

 

Loki makes a _pfft_ noise. “Not to my face, maybe.”

 

“Is not the favor I bestow on you made plain? Would anyone doubt the sincerity of my affection for you?”

 

“No,” Loki says. “But -”

 

“Stars above, Loki, you can’t throw tantrums every time I tend to my official duties. The courtesy I extend to the princess is a formality, nothing more. You have ascended as far as the law allows. I keep you well, do I not? I expect better from you, Loki.”

 

Loki takes a token moment to consider this, as though weighing his odds of success were he to pursue Thor in argument.

 

“Yes, you’re right,” Loki says at length, casting his eyes down. “It is not my place to question you.”

 

His put-on chastised puppy look is as phony as it is effective. Thor sighs again, this time in capitulation.

 

“What if we went riding tomorrow? Just you and I.”

 

Loki instantly brightens, shaking off his remorsefulness as easily as one would shoo a fly. “Really?”

 

“Yes,” Thor says.

 

“You said you hadn’t time this week -”

 

“I did,” Thor says, exasperated, because he truly doesn’t. But his treasury can’t keep footing the bill just because Loki feels _neglected._

 

Loki throws his arms around Thor’s neck and accosts him with a kiss.

 

“Thank you,” he says.

 

Thor allows himself a few moments to bask in this affection before he peels Loki off him.

 

“No more spending Loki. You needn’t go to such lengths to get my attention.”

 

Loki nods vigorously. “Yes, of course.”

 

“I am serious.”

 

“I know you are,” Loki beams.

 

“If you continue behaving in this manner I will punish you. You used my seal without permission. I will not allow such acts of insubordination in my own household.”

 

Loki’s grin only broadens. “It worked though, didn’t it?”

 

Thor grabs Loki and hauls him up, and in one, fluid motion, Thor swats him firmly on the arse. Loki yelps in surprise, a blush forming high on his cheeks at being disciplined in front of the servants. But Thor knows he’s not so delicate as to not enjoy a bit of manhandling. And frankly, he deserves it.

 

Thor booms, "Consort Loki's allowance is suspended indefinitely. Until such a time as he learns some self control,” Thor narrows his eyes at Loki, “And obedience.”

 

The barest hint of a smirk is tugging the corners of Loki’s lips.

 

 _Again,_ he mouths to Thor.

 

It takes all of five seconds to shoo away the rest of their attendants.

 

“You’re a brat,” Thor tells him, after throwing Loki down on a nearby couch. “Haven’t I fucked you enough, you greedy thing?”

 

Loki just laughs gleefully. “Something tells me you like it.”

 

Thor climbs up over him, forcing himself between Loki’s legs. “If you spend me into debt I will take it out on your arse.”

 

“Words, words,” Loki says with an insouciant wave of his hand.

 

Thor growls. “Get on all fours.”

 

 

***

 

“Do you think….:” Thor’s voice trails off. They are in bed and it is dark, Thor is lying on his stomach as Loki expertly works the knots in Thor’s back with his magic-warmed hands. Loki is good company when he’s been placated. “Do you think we would have ever….become lovers, if you were free and I were not King?”

 

It’s a stupid question and Thor knows it, and he’s grateful Loki doesn’t laugh. Loki’s hands stop rubbing at Thor’s shoulders as he considers.

 

“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.” Loki says earnestly from behind him. “Hard to picture a universe where you are not king.”

 

A cloying answer it is not, for which Thor is also grateful.

 

“What I mean is, if you were free, and we had crossed paths. I wonder if we would have liked each other.”

 

“I haven’t decided if I like you as it is.”

 

Thor makes an outraged noise. “Nor I, you!”

 

“Then we must agree we are only in this for the sex.”

 

“I’m being serious!” Thor laughs. “It is a serious question. Would you have liked me if you had been born free?”

 

“I _am_ serious. The question is impossible to answer.”

 

“Why?” Thor turns over, and Loki shuffles to accommodate him, sitting astride Thor’s hips. “Is it so ridiculous?”

 

“Because,” Loki explains tiredly, as one would to a small child, “To imagine myself as free would be to imagine myself as a normal-sized Frost Giant, and I _know_ you wouldn’t want to fuck me then.”

 

“As a freed runtling, then,” Thor tries.”Humour me.”

 

Loki shakes his head. His eyes glimmer preternaturally in the darkness. “No such thing. Runts aren’t free even in Jotunheim. We are considered too small and weak to be on our own. If I remained there I would just be someone else’s property.”

 

Thor frowns. “So your answer is no.”

 

Loki just laughs.  “Don’t sound so dejected, darling. I am sure in this absurd hypothetical of yours we would have still wound up in bed together - presuming, of course, our libidos remain the same. Would I have liked you? I don’t know; we would be…..different, that’s all. I choose not to dwell on such things. My life’s course could have taken many different directions. And in my estimation, the present one is by far the most agreeable. I quite enjoy the comforts my life here in Asgard affords, thank you.”

 

“I bet you do.” Thor says with a cocked eyebrow. Loki’s effect on his finances does not go unnoticed.

 

Loki chooses to ignore this. “Jotunheim is a wasteland, and its inhabitants are the most ill-humored, miserable lot to have ever drawn breath. I desire neither my fatherland, nor the company of my kindred. My home is in Asgard, at your side. Does that satisfy you?”

 

Thor sighs heavily. It’s not exactly the answer he was looking for, but he supposes it will have to do.

 

“Such contempt for Jotunheim,” Thor teases. “The good Ambassador would be bereft to hear you speak thus.”

 

Loki rolls his eyes. “He is probably so used to being surrounded by bored, bleary expressions, that is just how he thinks peoples’ faces are set.”

 

“You don’t have to keep taking tea with him,” Thor reminds him, as he often had before. “If you want an out will give you one.”

 

Loki sighs, closing his eyes for longer than a blink. For awhile Thor thinks he won’t answer, as Loki always does when Thor brings this up.

 

“Like what?” Loki says, surprising Thor. It’s the one bit of hesitation he’s ever shown on the matter. “What would you say?”

 

“The truth of course: that he’s incorrigibly dull and you’d rather muck out the stables than spend one more moment in his insufferable company.”

 

“Oh, ha-ha,” Loki deadpans, then turns  thoughtful. “I have been meeting with Ambassador Helblindi for so long. Wouldn’t he find it strange if I just…..suddenly stopped?”

 

Thor shrugs. Jotunheim is weak without its Casket - no valuable ally to Asgard. Thor can’t say he’d really care if its tedious ambassador got offended.

 

“So?”

 

“So...” Loki repeats, doubtful. “It would just be….strange, is all. People would talk.”

 

Why Loki insists on meeting with Helblindi every month, Thor doesn’t know. Loki has never uttered a word of complaint about it, but Thor can’t imagine that he actually _likes_ it. Loki is never quite himself afterwards.

 

“So?” Thor says. “Let them.”

 

Loki looks unconvinced.

 

“You don’t like it,” Thor says matter-of-factly. “I know you don’t.”

 

“I am happy to do this one service for Asgard, for my adopted homeland. For you,” Loki answers diplomatically. “Even if my contribution is small. The ambassador finds my relationship with you very promising…...he believes it bodes well for Asgard’s relations with Jotunheim….”

 

“I don't need you to play diplomat for me, Loki,” Thor continues gently, stroking Loki’s side. “Such is not the duty of a King’s consort. Your place is in my bed.”

 

There is a flash of something across Loki’s face, but it fades just as quickly.

 

“Perhaps,” Loki says at last. He rolls his hips invitingly. They’d already fucked each other’s aggression out earlier that day, but even that wasn’t enough to satiate Loki’s bottomless appetite of late. There’s still something of the heat left in him, Thor thinks -  as if they hadn’t spent all of the previous week fucking each other into blissful exhaustion. Thor was so fucked-out by the end of it he thought he’d be sworn off sex for at least a year…..clearly, that wound up not being the case. “But I get into less trouble when you keep me busy. Wouldn’t you say?”

 

Thor is inclined to agree.

 

***

 

The fresh air and sunshine does him good, Thor admits, even if this outing had been brought about by Loki’s expert manipulation.

 

They ride for a few miles, darting their horses to and fro, playfully chasing after deer and foxes. Loki is a fast rider, perhaps faster than Thor (he’s lighter, Thor tells himself) and he loves nothing more than to beat Thor in a race.

 

They stop near to a glade, where a crisp mountain spring empties into a small lake and where the grass is lush and plentiful. Loki dismounts and ties his horse, patting its nose with utmost tenderness. Of all the gifts Thor has given him, Loki clearly loves Svadilfari the most.

 

The sun is warm but is a slight chill to the air; autumn is fast approaching. This, of course, does not bother Loki, who takes off his boots and rolls up his trousers to go wade in the shallow, cool water. There, he wets his hands, face and hair, humming with appreciation as he does so. He’d been cooped up for more than a week with his heat, sequestered away in their private apartments. Little wonder he went to such lengths for this outing. 

 

Thor watches him from the bank, safely out of Loki’s splashing range. He looks so natural out here, in plain doeskin clothes, with neither jewelry nor fine trappings, no servants and no constraints. Fleetingly, Thor pictures Loki living like this out in the countryside: hunting, collecting wild fruits, drinking from streams, and riding his horse wherever the wind might take him.

 

The thought makes Thor sad, somehow.

 

“So you’ve never thought about being free?” he prods. “Not even as an idle fantasy? You’ve never considered it even once?”

 

“Why? Are you offering?” Loki says brightly.

 

It’s meant as a joke, but Thor doesn’t laugh. He's not sure what he expected, asking a question like that. There’s a long, awkward pause in which all Thor can hear is the bright, mocking babble of the nearby spring.

 

“Well, if you must know,” Loki says quickly, recovering, “Yes, it has crossed my mind. But I must confess, the thought holds little appeal.” He shrugs, a lazy, indulgent grin on his face. “Who would take care of me?”

 

Secretly, Thor is relieved he’d dropped it. Some topics are…...difficult to discuss.

 

“Ah that’s right,” Thor says sagely. “You’d have to work. Get your fair white hands dirty with the rest of the common plebs. Gone would be the days of lounging on perfumed cushions on someone else’s coin.”

 

“Well, what else am I here for? I am not here to….. _play diplomat….._ as you say.”

 

Thor’s got to concede him that; the slight ice in Loki’s tone goes unnoticed.

 

Loki goes on thoughtfully, “I’ve never had to fend for myself. I’m not sure I would know how.”

 

“You’re hardly defenceless,” Thor tells him.

 

Loki is pleased by this, clearly, and though he ducks his head in modesty, a small smile lingers on his lips. Then, in one swift motion, he fires an energy bolt past Thor’s head. It whizzes past Thor’s shoulder and into the rocky outcrop behind him, fizzling out in seconds and leaving a smouldering plume of smoke in its wake.

 

“OY!” Thor shouts, more startled than he’d care to admit. Perhaps he should keep a closer eye on Loki's magickal training. “Watch it!”

 

Loki clicks his tongue, his face a disappointed moue. “Missed.”

 

That _does it._ Before he even knows it, Thor is unclasping his cape and wriggling out of his boots impatiently.

 

“You’ll pay for that,” he promises.

 

Loki just stands in the middle of the lake, grinning like a madman and batting his eyelashes.

 

“I thought you said the water was too cold?”

 

Thor did, but he hardly notices that now as he charges into the water, soaking his pants all the way up to the thigh. Loki ducks out of the way, firing more energy bolts into the water as he goes and laughing gleefully all the while. He’s purposefully missing, Thor knows, but the bolts make large enough splashes that Thor’s chase is thrown off course. Every time Thor gets close, Loki fires a bolt and splashes water right up into Thor’s face. And it is _cold._

 

“Do you never tire of provoking me?” Thor shouts, mopping his wet hair out of his eyes.

 

“Provoking you? I just thought you could use the refreshment.”

 

Loki may have his magic, but Thor is strong, and much faster than he looks. He plows through the water with more ease than Loki expects, and in a forceful burst, he closes much of the distance between them. Loki turns to flee, but the water is deeper now, and Loki’s movement is much impeded by it. Thor uses the opportunity to pounce him.

 

“Do you yield?” Thor says, having successfully pinned Loki against his chest.

 

Loki pants breathlessly, and only squirms harder.

 

“Yield, Loki!” Thor says again, and this time accentuates his command with a rub to the ribs - right where Loki is most ticklish - for no other reason than because Thor knows he _hates_ it.

 

Loki squeals, _eh-he-he-he-he,_ and wriggles ferociously in an attempt to free himself. But he's no match for Thor’s limitless strength, and with his hands restrained thusly, he no longer can summon any magic to assist him.

 

“I yield, I yield!” he laughs. “Damn you, I yield!”

 

But Thor doesn’t let go, not even when all the tension drains from Loki’s body and he begins melting into Thor’s embrace rather than struggling against it. Their eyes meet, and all of a sudden Thor realizes they’re having a _moment,_ right there, waist-deep in water, in the middle of a lake. In the back of his mind Thor thinks they must like a pair of fools…...for a king to conduct himself in such a childish manner…...

 

But when Loki tilts his head up and places a gentle kiss on Thor’s lips, all disapproving thoughts melt away.

 

It’s a sweet kiss - innocent, even, lacking in heat, but replete with…..something else. Something Thor can’t quite name. Something that makes Thor’s stomach flutter and his knees weak.

 

When Loki pulls away, his face is soft and fond. Strands of loose, wet hair curl attractively about his face, and dewy droplets cling to his skin. There is an otherworldliness about him that is so unlike the beauty of any Asgardian maid.  Sometimes Thor thinks that even if they spent ten lifetimes together, Thor will never completely figure Loki out.

 

“To answer your question - it is not in me to desire freedom. I am quite happy to belong to you,” Loki says, earnest in a way that leaves no room for doubt. Then he kisses Thor again.

 

When he pulls away this time, however, his face is mischievous. It’s all the warning Thor gets before Loki sneaks a foot behind him, tripping him and sending him flailing backwards into the water.

 

***

 

Thor watches quietly as Loki wrings out the excess water from his hair. He is mesmerizing even in this, so effortlessly sensual that Thor almost forgets to be mad at how _freezing_ he is. Thor’s only consolation was that he made sure Loki got as wet as he did - though he doubts Loki is suffering as much for it.

 

Having called a truce, they settle on the lake’s grassy bank to dry themselves out. The clouds have parted at least, and with the sunshine comes much-appreciated warmth. They recline on Thor’s cape, and Loki sets about redoing Thor’s braids, most of which had come undone in their romp. Thor has always loved having Loki play with his hair - so much so that Loki’s now the only one who is allowed to tie his braids.

 

 It’s only now that Thor realizes just how much he needed this outing - perhaps even more than Loki did.

 

“Is something troubling you, love?” Loki asks, his voice a soothing lull. “Why all these troublesome thoughts of late?”

 

_Because I keep turning down princesses for you and I need to understand why._

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Thor sighs.  “We make an unlikely pair, is all.”

 

“That we do,” Loki says. He finishes Thor’s braids and they sit there in amiable silence for a time, content to soak in the beauty of their surroundings.

 

Thor confesses, “Sometimes I feel….like you’re the only person I can really talk to.”

 

A soft smile graces Loki’s lips.

 

“It is an honour to hear you say so,” Loki says, “But - forgive me. You have many in your retinue who can fill that role. Lady Sif, Lord Fandral, Volstagg....”

 

Thor shakes his head. All good, loyal friends to be sure, but their friendship with Thor had not come about organically. They were deemed worthy of being Thor’s companions by virtue of their noble birth, and were hand-selected by Odin to be Thor’s playmates when they were younglings. They would be grieved to disobey Odin, even now. Thor doesn’t doubt the sincerity of their affection but he is not sure they would have been friends, circumstances being any other than they are.

 

Thor realizes the irony of this, given that Loki had no choice in his circumstances either.

 

“It’s not the same,” is all Thor says.

 

Loki nods, gazing somewhere beyond the lake, “Your father asked me that once. About being happy. And I told him I was. I meant it. Your father showed me more kindness than I had ever known, but -” He turns looks at Thor, “I was nowhere near as happy with him as I am with you.”

 

Thor crosses his arms, suddenly disengaged. “Yes, I am glad he was so good to you. How splendid for you.”

 

“You’re upset,” Loki says.

 

“I am not.”

 

“You are. You don’t like to hear me talk about him. You always shut down when I bring him up.”

 

“I honestly don’t care.”

 

Loki shoots him a knowing smirk. “My dear, you are many things, but a convincing liar is not one of them. You know what I think?” Loki pauses, if only for dramatic effect, because it’s obvious he’s going to tell Thor anyway. “I think you were jealous of me.”

 

Thor sputters. “ _Jealous_!?”

 

“Yes,” Loki says boldly, tilting his head up. “I think you were jealous of the attention Odin lavished on me, and resentful that he gave it so freely.”

 

Thor’s mouth falls open. The accuracy of it skews him to the core.

 

 _How dare you,_ Thor would have said, if loki had not laid a finger over his lips.

 

“ _Which,_ I do not blame you for.”  Loki continues. “You had every right to be upset. Your father loved you, Thor. He was merely…..confused.”

 

Thor huffs, ripping out out a handful of grass at his side.  “Aye, he loved me so much he went into deep mourning and left me to handle his entire kingdom on my own.”

 

“He trusted you would rise to the occasion.”

 

“You put so much faith in him, you know that? Can my father do no wrong in your eyes? You do nothing but defend him.” Thor adds under his breath, “I am glad he will not wake.”

 

“I am only speaking to his intentions,” Loki says evenly. “I believe they were good, even if it did not always seem that way.”

 

“What do you know about it?” Thor snaps, and Loki falls silent.

 

“Close your eyes,” Loki says at length.

 

“What for?”

 

“You will see.”

 

Thor bristles.  How can one see with their eyes closed?

 

“I’m not playing anymore, Loki. I’m in no mood for tricks.”

 

“This isn’t a trick, I promise you,” Loki says steadily. Then, quieter, he adds, “I want to show you something.”

 

“Show me what?”

 

“You will see,” Loki says again.

 

“I’m not doing anything until you tell me what you’re going to do!”

 

“Would you please just trust me, Thor?” Loki asks.

 

Norns, but it is hard to refuse him sometimes. Stiffly, Thor allows Loki to lay him backwards onto the grass. He feels Loki’s cool palm against his forehead.

 

“Relax,” Loki repeats. Then Thor’s vision goes white.

 

_***_

 

_There is light all round. Everything is soft and out of focus, until slowly, details start melding together. Wherever Thor is, it’s not anywhere he recognizes. He’s kneeling, but his body isn’t his. His skin is too fair, his wrists and fingers too finely boned. His clothes are little more than a light silk tunic, and in them he feels so, so exposed….._

 

_Above him is seated Odin in a great armchair, physically imposing in a way that Thor hadn't experienced since he was a small child. Thor knows, intellectually, that  the apparition of his resurrected father should come as a bit of a shock, but in fact this feels quite normal - like nothing at all is out of the ordinary._

 

_“We leave for Asgard tomorrow,” Odin says in a gentle tone Thor has never heard before. “Back into the den of wolves. Ah, just wait until you see the city, child. It is like nothing else in all the realms. Golden spires reaching into the clouds, the Bifrost glittering on the horizon. The tales do not do it justice.”_

 

_A sickly knot twists in Thor’s stomach - dread._

 

_“I am eager to behold it, my lord,” Thor says, though not in his voice and not of his own volition. It is disconcerting, to say the least._

 

_“I should like to see my son again…..” Odin says wistfully. “It has been far too many years.”_

 

_Thor tenses at the mention of the Prince Regent. He can’t say he’s looking forward to meeting the Prince with quite as much anticipation. There are….rumors._

 

_“He still seems to me that blond, bright-eyed, mischievous boy I knew so long ago. Now regent of Asgard! How time slips from my fingers. The people love him, too. Ah, he was always their favorite. Ever since the day he was born. My golden son. As beautiful as his mother.”_

 

_“The people love you too,” Thor offers._

 

_Odin laughs, though it degenerates into a slight cough. “People are fickle; they are quick to forget. They loved me, aye, when I was young. But now I am old and sickly, and can bring them neither glory nor victory. Such is the way of things. My time has passed. It is Thor’s time now.”_

 

_“I am sure the Prince will be glad to have you home.”_

 

_Odin looks uncomfortable. “…..Perhaps. I regret we have not spoken much since her passing…..”_

 

_“Queen Frigga….” Thor whispers reverently._

 

_Odin smiles in that sad, regretful manner of his. “I doubt he would even notice my presence in Asgard. Sometimes I think…...he considers me a burden to him. I think he wishes me gone for good. Perhaps it would be for the best.”_

 

_“My lord,” Thor gasps. “I am sure that’s not true.”_

 

_“I often wonder if I could have done more for him in his youth, when he needed guidance as only a father could provide. But I was selfish. Too preoccupied I was with my own grief. I fear he is deeply wounded, and I have only myself to blame. Our relationship is beyond repair.”_

 

_“If I may be so bold,” Thor offers softly, “Shouldn’t this be a conversation to have with the Prince?”_

 

_“Oh, my darling, innocent boy. How sweet you are to say so, but I am afraid it is too late. The damage is too extensive to bridge. I doubt Thor would even listen to me if I tried. He is a stubborn man. Hot-headed and proud. Was I not the same at his age? It’s no mystery where he gets that temper!  But he is young. The years will even him out, grant him wisdom. Just as they did for me. All I can do now is stand back and allow him the space to grow.”_

 

_“You are all I have left.” He takes Thor’s face in his hands. There is an unshed tear in his good eye. “My Loki. My Loki.”_

 

***

 

Thor’s eyes pop open. There is wetness at his temples. He can’t remember who or where he is, at first, until Loki’s concerned face comes into focus, silhouetted against the open sky.

 

“What was that?” Thor croaks. His throat is unnaturally dry, as though coated in dust.

 

“A memory,” Loki answers simply.

 

“ _Your_ memory.”

 

“Aye,” says Loki quietly, “I have been saving it for you.”

 

Thor scrubs a hand over his face. The residue of the memory lingers, the way a bad nightmare does when one has only just awoken. It was so….vivid.

 

“I didn’t know you could do that,” is all he can think to say.

 

“I have never tried it.”

 

Thor squints at him,. “Until now?”

 

“You’re my kin,” Loki says, and pauses a long while. “You’re my mate.”

 

Thor just blinks up at him dumbly, so Loki explains:

 

“You partnered me during my first heat cycle. In Jotunheim that would make you my mate…we’re connected. _Kin._ There is now a channel between us that allows for that kind of communication. We call it a Bridge.  I am sorry if it was disorientating. I thought it easier to show, rather than to explain…..”

 

“Oh.” Thor says. There is still so much about Loki and his magic that Thor simply does not understand. “No, thank you. It….meant a lot to me. To see that.”

 

Loki smiles gently - sympathetically.  Thor isn’t sure he likes it. It makes him feel weak.

 

“Can you….see into my memories?”

 

“I can only see what you are willing to show me. If you wanted to share….” Loki’s voice trails off, and he falls silent.

 

“Yes! Yes, of course.” Thor exclaims, suddenly very taken with the idea, and eager to change the subject. He props himself up on his elbows. “Perhaps not right now…..but….I think I would like to share some memories of my mother with you. I wish you could have met her.”

 

Loki blinks. “Really?”

 

Thor feels his cheeks heat. “Yeah. Yes. I mean, if she had known you as my consort….I think she would have liked you.”

 

“Why do you say that?”

 

“I don’t know.” Thor says honestly, suddenly feeling quite silly for blurting that out. He was never inclined to talk about his mother before, and he’s as stunned as Loki at his own admission. Feeling the need to explain himself somewhat, he goes on: “You make me happy. Why wouldn’t she like you?”

 

Loki is watching him carefully, an unreadable expression on his face. There is a long pause.

 

“Yes, I would like that. I would be honoured,” Loki says at length.

 

“But not today,” Thor adds quickly. “It is getting late, and I am soaked to the bone. We should return to the palace.”

 

Loki smiles tightly. “No, not today.”

 

 

***

 

The more Thor thinks about it in the following days, the more he kicks himself for his hasty offer. It’s not like he doesn’t want to share memories with Loki….just maybe….not those particular ones?

 

Thor doesn’t like to dwell on thoughts of his mother. That’s nothing against Loki.

 

“I….changed my mind. About the memory sharing,” Thor announces without preamble, having barged into their shared apartments. Upon his arrival, Loki closes the book he’d been reading and sets it in his lap.

 

“Oh,” is all he says.

 

“I’m just…..not ready,” Thor goes on inelegantly. He knows he doesn’t have to explain himself but he rambles on anyway. “It’s a very sensitive matter for me. My mother. You understand.”

 

Loki nods, that same tight-lipped smile on his face. “Of course.”

 

Having said his peace, Thor leaves, if only to avoid having to suffer the disappointment on Loki’s face. When he returns to their living area, he finds that Loki hasn’t moved, his book still unopened in his lap.

 

“It doesn’t have to be….that,” Loki says, staring into the hearth. His voice is very quiet. “You can share any memory with me, so long as it’s one you remember well.”

 

Grudgingly, Thor considers this. He mentally cycles through his memories, but winds up vetoing them all just as quickly. What could he possibly share with Loki? Memories of battle, of great hunts? So many of Thor’s memories are….unsavory, at best. Not exactly things he’d want Loki to see.

 

Thor chews his inner lip. “You really want me to show you something?”

 

“Of course I do,” Loki says, patting the seat beside him until Thor joins him on the couch. He rubs Thor’s thigh encouragingly. “Anything you’d be willing to share.”

 

Those puppy-dog eyes again. Norns. Loki will get him into trouble one day.

 

“Alright.” Thor acquiesces, settling on a memory at last. “Alright, I have one. How do I -”

 

Loki instantly brightens. “Just relax, face me.”

 

Thor does, settling into the cushions, tense as a bowstring.

 

“Relax,” Loki chides.

 

“I am,” Thor says gruffly.

 

All at once, Loki kisses him. When Loki pulls away, he’s smiling. Thor finds he’s smiling too. Loki has a way of defusing Thor’s ill moods.

 

“Close your eyes, deep breaths. I am going to try to build the Bridge now. It might feel….odd. Even invasive. Focus on the chosen memory as intensely as you can, and replay it over and over in your mind. When you’re ready, let me in.” Loki says quickly, like he’s worried if he takes too long Thor might back out again. He isn’t wrong.

 

“How will I know how to do that?”

 

“You’ll know,” Loki says. “It will feel like a natural release of pressure. Building the Bridge is by far the most difficult part of the process. But you must remember - I cannot enter into your mind if you do not let me. You are in control, and we can stop at any point. Alright?”

 

Thor shifts in his seat. This all seems so alien, so dangerous. But, for whatever reason, Thor feels he owes this to Loki. So, Thor nods his assent.

 

Loki begins by laying his hand on Thor’s forehead. Slowly, Thor begins to feel a buildup of pulsing energy, boring into his skull. It’s not painful, but it’s not exactly pleasant either.

 

“Focus,” Loki tells him, cutting through the static in Thor’s ears. “And breathe.”

 

It’s hard for Thor to concentrate on his memory. The energy at his forehead is distracting, claustrophobic, like it’s closing in on him, waiting for entry at the periphery of his mind. As though his brain were a city under siege.

 

“Breathe,” Loki says again, his voice now very far away.

 

Thor does, deeply. And with one fortifying exhale, he opens.

 

***

 

They come to, some immeasurable time later. Loki sits back, blinking.

 

“You kissed Lady Sif?”

 

Thor rubs out the spots behind his eyes. Gods, that makes a person feel dizzy.  “Aye.”

 

Loki’s face is scrutinizing. “And she hit you.”

 

“She did.” Clocked Thor right in the face, and gave him a bloody nose to boot. She’d felt awful about it afterwards, and was justifiably terrified of what Odin would do to her, though in the end Thor was too embarrassed to tattle. Sif had a mean right hook, even as a thirteen year old.

 

Loki’s brows knot. “Why in the world would you show me that?”

 

Belatedly, Thor wonders if that was perhaps not the best first memory to share. Thor hadn’t stopped to think if kissing were something of a sensitive topic for Loki, given their….history.

 

“Because I thought you might think it funny?” he tries.

 

Loki’s lips twitch, and slowly his face cracks into a wide grin. Then, he laughs.

 

“But perhaps not as funny as that,” Thor says, though secretly, he’s pleased to see Loki laugh so unabashedly. When Loki isn’t watching himself, his laugh comes out as an almost absurd giggle: _eh-he-he-he._ It’s rare, but nothing pleases Thor more than to hear it.

 

“Forgive me,” Loki says, not sounding sorry at all. “It’s just…..I never would have pictured….”

 

“.....me desiring Sif that way?” Thor finishes. “Well, trust me, it was a mistake I was not quick to replicate.”

 

Loki smiles crookedly. And he laughs again, _eh-he-he._

 

***

 

They take turns sharing memories after that. Nothing as substantial as that first memory, however; they both seem content to keep things on the lighthearted side. Loki shows him some of the exotic places he’d visited before his arrival in Asgard, and his first impressions of the gilded city. He shares more memories of Odin, which Thor admits has the effect of softening his opinion of the old man somewhat.

 

“What of Jotunheim?” Thor asks one day. “Would you show me something of your youth there?”

 

Thor can’t help that he’s curious. He’s never been to Jotunheim, but from what he’s heard, it sounds like an absolute shithole.

 

“Forgive me. I have few memories of Jotunheim, and what I do remember I would.....prefer not to evoke. It was not a happy time in my life.”

 

Thor is disappointed at Loki’s refusal, but not entirely surprised. Loki never speaks much about his past.

 

“As you wish.”

 

Loki offers a small grateful smile. “Come, then. I will show you something else.”

 

***

 

The fourth time Thor shares a memory is when everything falls apart.

 

***

 

_Thor remembers his first flight with Mjolnir as vividly as the day it happened. Thor had rarely felt such joy or exhilaration in his entire life. Nor such freedom - the wind, the speed, the unbridled power. Whizzing past countless cities and villages, mountains and streams and meadows. How right it felt, to be united with Mjolnir in this way._

 

_Thor recalls this memory with such precision it’s obvious to him when something is slightly off. He senses Loki’s presence as something of a shadow: unobtrusive and inoperative. Thor knows that Loki is seeing what he sees, feeling what he feels. It’s actually quite thrilling to show Loki this; and Thor must admit the Bridge is much more comfortable now that that horrible pressure has been relieved._

 

_Thor laughs madly, his happiness immeasurable. He knows Loki feels this too, which only compounds his joy._

 

_Before too long Thor grows complacent, and lets the memory run on autoplay. The memory is much more vivid with all the attentive magickal energies Loki is supplying, but there is only so much Thor remembers, and before long the vision starts to turn black around the edges._

 

_“Focus,” Thor thinks he hears Loki say. Thor can’t tell where his voice is coming from, if it’s real or if it’s in his head._

_  
The memory is losing detail at a rapid pace. Collapsing. Falling away like shattered glass. Thor isn’t flying anymore. He’s back at the palace, in his audience room. Looking down at Loki, crumpled on the marble floor, his ankle jutting out at an unnatural angle._

 

_Thor is horrified: both that he’d let the memory slip, and within the memory itself. But it’s not like he can stop it. It is a memory after all, and it must play out they way it was remembered._

 

_Thor reaches for Loki and Loki recoils in what could only be described as terror. He’s panting wildly, like a frightened animal, as though Thor were a bird of prey come to finish him off._

 

_Thor’s attention is diverted to the crowds of faces who circle the scene: ladies in waiting, attendants, courtiers. Whispering. Eyes fixated accusingly at him. His reputation is such that they no doubt can put two and two together. They’re all staring at him. It’s because they know. Thor is a brutal man, sometimes._

 

_Thor envisions the entirety of his rule like this. A tyrant, taking what he wants at will. Lustful, hot-tempered, and impulsive. Nothing at all like his benevolent mother. Regarded by all with fear and contempt.The people of Asgard may be enchanted with him now - young and handsome as he is - but they will soon grow disillusioned. And then how would he be remembered?_

 

_Thor the Cruel._

_Thor sees all of this reflected in Loki’s terrified face. Thor wants deeply to reach down and console him, but he knows this would only make everything worse. He’s done enough damage. Moreover, he isn’t sure he could take having Loki flinch from him again._

 

_Thor decides, then and there, that he would not let himself be that kind of man….that kind of King. He’d just have to be better. Rein in his temper. Show compassion. But….Thor has never done those things in his life. He isn’t sure he knows how, or where to even begin…_

 

***

 

Thor jolts awake, sitting upwards with so much force his vision spots. Loki is still sitting across from him, wide-eyed and equally bewildered. His hand hangs in mid-air, like he’d abruptly retracted it from Thor’s forehead.

 

And, because he doesn’t know what else to do, Thor gets angry.

 

“You didn’t tell me that could happen,” Thor accuses.  


“I didn’t - “ Loki says. He opens his hands reactively. “I didn’t think it would.”

 

“How much did you see?” Thor asks lowly.

 

Loki wets his lips, swallowing tightly. It’s answer enough.

 

Thor can tell Loki is bracing himself - he’s afraid. Just like in the memory. Sometimes, Thor thinks nothing has changed between them.

 

“No more….Bridges.” Thor says, getting up. “We’re not speaking of this ever again.”

 

“Yes, my king,” Loki says, even as Thor is already fleeing out the door.

 

****

 

And they don’t speak of it - Not in bed that night, nor at breakfast, nor the following evening. Thor catches Loki eyeing him oddly every now and again, a vague, unreadable expression on his face. It soon begins to grate on Thor’s nerves.

 

“What?” Thor eventually snaps.

 

“Nothing,” Loki answers mildly. “My lord.”

 

All through the week, Loki comports himself like a sweet little lamb, knowing better than to provoke Thor when he’s in a mood. Now that Thor knows Loki better, his servility seems so put-on, so phony. It only annoys Thor further.

 

Thor knows he shouldn’t be angry about it. But he _is._ Something about that….that _Bridge_ left a sour taste in his mouth. He isn’t sure what happened to make his memory collapse - if it was his fault or Loki’s. Thor is too unfamiliar with that kind of magic to tell. He should never have agreed to it in the first place. He should not have let himself be so vulnerable. So exposed.

 

And it had to be that memory, didn’t it? Thor had tried so hard _not_ to think about it, maybe that’s why it was so quick to spring to mind.

 

For the last few years, Thor was quite content to pretend none of that….. _unpleasantness_ happened. Loki had never once mentioned it either - as though he’d completely banished those experiences from his mind. If Thor were a braver man, he might’ve asked Loki to show him his memories of that night, when Thor had so brutally mistreated him. Loki must think about it, sometimes. Why wouldn’t he? Did Thor really expect him to forget?

 

No matter what sweet words Loki entices him with, there must still be a part of him that hates Thor fiercely.

 

Which is why, when Loki tries to make pleasant small talk over breakfast, Thor is only irritated.

 

“The leaves are changing colours. You can really notice it now.” Loki says. It’s an uncharacteristically bland comment, coming from him. The kind of comment that makes Thor feel like Loki’s treating him with kid gloves.

 

 _What else do you expect him to do?_ Thor’s mind supplies. _You’re acting as ornery as a bear with a sliver stuck in its paw._

 

Thor just grunts and shovels more egg into his mouth. They don’t talk any more, after that.

 

 

***

 

Loki does indeed look resplendent in his ill-gotten clothes, Thor must concede. The dark, bold colours he favours now make him look striking, rather than just beautiful. If Loki has learned how to do anything as Thor’s consort, it’s how to make an impact.

 

Loki takes Thor’s right arm like he belongs there, like it was never anyone else’s to begin with, even though by status he should only take Thor’s left. Thor allows this breach of tradition, because when Loki has Thor’s right arm, there is less weight on his left ankle. Though Loki has never explicitly said so, Thor knows he’s self-conscious about his slight limp.

 

Thor is reminded, grimly, that it was in front of these very ambassadors that Loki had broken his ankle, some three years before. If this bothers Loki -  given that that memory must be as fresh in his mind as it is in Thor’s - he certainly doesn’t let it show. He stares them all down proudly, like a born aristocrat. Even the boldest of Thor’s courtiers do not let their gazes linger. 

 

“You know I must dance with the Princess,” Thor says casually midway through supper, with enough firmness Loki would know not to protest. He’s not asking for Loki’s permission. “It would be impolite of me not to.”

 

Loki looks more interested in his venison than in Thor’s justifications. He pats his lips daintily with his napkin and nods. “Yes, of course. My lord.”

 

Most of the time, when Loki calls him that, it’s because they are in public and Loki knows that he must behave. But sometimes, _sometimes,_ Loki calls him that when he wants to be a brat. It’s in the tone of voice - that _barest_ hint of sarcasm, so subtle Thor’s not sure he picks up on it every time.

 

This could pass for either. And Thor is still a bit testy.

 

“I mean it. We’ve already settled the matter and I won’t hear another word about it.”

 

“Yes, my lord.” Loki says. “I’m not disagreeing.”

 

Thor stiffly sits back in his chair, and for a brief, nonsensical moment, misses the Loki who would fight him a bit on these things.

 

This occasion - a celebration of the renewed trading contract and peace agreement with Vanaheim - is a very subdued affair, relatively speaking. Mead flows freely, and there’s more food than could be eaten by these guests in an entire week. Usually Thor enjoys a good feast, but tonight he truly wishes he were just taking supper in their private rooms. Not that Thor has much say in the matter - if he weren’t present it might cause an international incident. The idea that a king can do as he pleases is a prevalent misconception indeed.

 

Exacerbating Thor’s foul mood is the sea of eyes fixed on him, watching with anticipation to see whether Thor will show even the smallest shred of interest in the guest of honour, Princess Brynhilde. They all hoping for a match, Thor knows, especially since Brynhilde’s older cousin Amora had fallen so spectacularly out of favor.

 

This whole feast is nothing but a thinly-veiled excuse to dangle a pretty, fresh-faced princess in front of him, the fact of which must be as evident to Loki as it is to Thor. Thor’s councillors don’t outright say so, but they don’t have to: Loki is politically useless. Thor’s taste for concubines was all well and good when he was younger, but now that Thor is King, they all expect him to settle down and find himself a proper _queen._

 

Thor glances over to Loki, proud, intelligent, and beautiful, whom Thor has elevated above all others, and feels miserable. There is no decree in the world that could change the fact that Loki is a born slave.

 

Princess Brynhilde is indeed very pretty with her rosy lips, freckles and auburn hair, and she seems quite bright, if a little too interested in horses, horseback riding, and some foreign sport from Vanaheim played on horseback. She is clearly flustered by Thor, and when Thor takes her hand, it’s cold and clammy. She’s a stiff dancer, with none of Loki’s grace and assuredness. Were Thor to marry her, Loki would _eat her alive._

 

If Thor’s advisors want to find him a queen, they better try harder.

 

Nonetheless, Thor is polite, and escorts her back to her seat after their dance. He even kisses her hand, just to give the rumor mill something to talk about. Predictably, the crowd buzzes. It would be almost comical, if it weren’t so inane.

 

He returns to his throne, where Loki sits at his left side. For a moment Thor thinks Loki will say something about it, but he doesn’t.

 

The festivities wear on and Thor drinks, now able to cut loose a bit since his ceremonial role has been fulfilled. It’ll help him forget about the talking-to he’ll no doubt receive from his advisors tomorrow morning.

 

Deep in his cups, Thor starts to feel better, so much so that when the court players come to put on a comedy for the entertainment of the guests, Thor gets into it and joins in the laughter at some of the farcical antics. It’s a welcome distraction. At his side, Loki is reclined, his head lolled against the back of his chair. He doesn’t respond at even the most crowd-pleasing slapstick. In fact, half the time his eyes are closed.

 

 _He better not be pouting,_ Thor thinks to himself sourly. The last thing Thor needs right now is Loki acting like a sulking child in front of all their guests. Thor isn’t in the mood to confront him on it, however, so he ignores him and focuses exclusively on the comedy. It works, for awhile - though he’s hyperaware of Loki, completely still and unmoving at his side.

 

“I am…..not feeling well,” Loki whispers to him, mid-way through the second act. “I believe shall retire for the evening.”

 

Thor squints at him. He’s not sure he believes that. “It’s not even midnight.”

 

“I am not feeling well,” Loki repeats.

 

“What is it?” Thor frowns, searching Loki’s face for any sign of upset, but finds none.

 

“Just...tired.” Loki smiles weakly, and kisses Thor’s forehead. “Too many sweets. Do not worry yourself, darling.”

 

“I was hoping to…..” Thor whispers hotly, running his knuckle down Loki’s thigh. The drink is mellowing him out somewhat, and exacerbating his baser impulses.

 

“Now?” Loki says.

 

Thor just nods, slowly, suddenly very disinterested in the players before him and _very_ interested in something else.

 

Loki glances fleetingly about them, chewing his lip.

 

“Yes,” he answers finally. “Quickly.”

 

In the darkness, it’s easy to slip away to an empty side room, and servants know better than to follow anyway. Thor steers Loki towards an alcove blocked partly by a heavy curtain. It’s as good a place as any for a late night tryst. Thor anticipates that maybe Loki might resist this a bit - Loki overwhelmingly prefers to be fucked in their bed - but to Thor’s great delight, Loki doesn’t make a fuss, and dutifully parts his lips so Thor can kiss him.

 

Loki makes quick work of the laces on Thor’s breeches, unfastening them just enough to wriggle his hand in and take hold of Thor’s cock. Thor bucks his hips at this - drinking makes him impatient. Loki rubs at him methodically, as if with the singular goal of making Thor come. Generally, when they fuck, Loki is engaged and willing. Loki touches himself and chases his own pleasure, and never needs that much stimulation before he’s slick enough for Thor to enter him.

 

This isn’t one of those times.

 

This is one of those times when Loki is putting up with it. Thor doesn’t know if it’s because of the weird friction between them lately, or because he knows Loki doesn’t like it when he drinks too much, or because Loki is simply as tired as he says. All he knows is that if he wanted a halfhearted handjob, he probably could’ve gotten the Princess to do it.

 

“You’re not in the mood,” Thor observes flatly.

 

Loki glances up. His eyes glint dully in the dim light.

 

“I am,” Loki says.

 

“Are you wet enough to take my cock?” Thor asks harshly.

 

“I can be,” Loki says. “In a minute.”

 

Thor grunts. He didn’t think this would be such a chore for Loki.

 

“Can’t you just suck me then?” Thor says, pathetically close to a whine. And, because he’s an asshole and can’t quite help himself, “ _Quickly?”_

 

Loki hesitates again, casting a quick glance beyond Thor’s shoulder for any sign of peering eyes. Then, satisfied that they weren’t followed, Loki drops to his knees. He wastes no time in taking Thor’s cock into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the head the way he knows Thor likes. His enthusiasm would suggest that he’s trying to get this over with as quickly as possible, but now Thor is too distracted to care.

 

“That’s good, Loki,” Thor groans, mollified. He thrusts gently into Loki’s mouth to encourage him.

 

Loki backs off as soon as Thor’s cock hits the back of his throat. He coughs.

 

“Can you just…..just let me?” Loki croaks, grabbing Thor’s cock at the base. He resumes sucking shallowly at the tip and using his hand to jack Thor off.

 

It’s good, really good, but Thor doesn’t think he can come like this. Loki usually takes him deeper.

 

Thor grabs a fistful Loki’s hair and bucks a bit. Not that he’s trying to be rough - it’s just that when he’s aroused he gets a little bit antsy. But again, as soon as Thor hits the back of Loki’s throat, Loki recoils. This time he’s gagging. His chin is shiny with spit.

 

“Could you be gentler?” Loki wheezes, sitting back on his heels and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Please.”

 

Thor huffs. He’ll never get off at this rate. “If you can’t take it -.”

 

Loki shakes his head, stubborn. “Just go slow.”

 

At that, Loki tries again, pointedly gripping Thor’s dick at the base to control him. Loki redoubles his efforts, sucking madly and using his tongue and lips for best effect. Thor has to grant that he’s trying, and it does feel good. It’s just not _enough,_ and soon Thor loses patience and thrusts. But this time, Loki does more than gag. He vomits, heaving up his dinner all over Thor’s boots.

 

Having emptied the entire contents of his stomach, Loki covers his mouth, clearly horrified. Thor is horrified too, and not just at the puddle of vomit he’s now standing in.

 

“I am...so sorry.” Loki says at last.

 

Thor quickly tucks his cock in his pants (had he ever lost an erection faster?) and crouches down to Loki’s level, unmindful of the mess.

 

“Loki,” he says, alarmed. “Are you alright?”

 

Loki just shakes his head, clearly mortified. “I am so, so sorry. I made a mess of you -.”

 

“Never mind that,” Thor says. He takes Loki’s flushed, wet face in his hands, and brushes the stray hairs away from his forehead. “Why didn’t you tell me to stop?”

 

Loki just pants raggedly and shrugs.

 

“Loki, why didn’t you tell me to stop?”

 

“I didn’t want you to be angry with me.” Loki whispers hoarsely.

 

“I’m not angry at you,” Thor hushes. “Loki, I’m not angry with you.”

 

Loki shakes his head, disbelieving. “Yes you are. You’re angry I made the memory collapse. But I didn’t mean to. I didn’t meant to, I swear -”

 

Thor’s heart wrenches in his chest. How can he explain it to make Loki understand?

 

“I’m not angry. Not with you. Not about - that. This….this isn’t about that. What happened was an accident. Neither your fault nor mine. Do you believe me?”

 

Loki just shrugs again.

 

“You’re burning,” Now that Thor has regained some of his wits, he notices for the first time how gray Loki's face is. He _is_ ill. Thor hadn’t believed him before.Thor didn’t think it were possible, but now he feels worse.

 

Norns. He really hasn’t changed at all, has he?

 

“You should have told me no, Loki. Why didn’t you just say no?”

 

Loki shoots him a look: _You know why._

 

“I’m not going to replace you,” Thor assures him gently. “Even if you did tell me no. I don’t want anyone else.”

 

Loki just stares, that same unreadable, searching expression on his now-feverish face.

 

“I just want to go to bed,” Loki mumbles.

 

“Yes, of course.” Thor gathers him gently into his arms. “I’ll get you a healer.”

 

Loki grimaces. “I’m sure I’ll feel better now that I’ve…” He motions to the pile of vomit. “It was probably a bout of food sickness.”

 

“ _I’d_ feel better if we did get a healer.”

 

Loki makes the smallest little amused smile, which Thor takes as a good sign. Then Loki goes slack in Thor’s embrace. “As you like.”

 

***

 

Loki vomits again when they reach the bedchamber - only stomach acid this time - and his condition quickly deteriorates from there. His fever worsens, so Thor has all the windows in their Imperial suite opened as wide as they can go. The chill will help, Thor thinks.

 

The healers give Loki a tonic to help him sleep. Thor anxiously hovers over Loki’s prone body as he slowly succumbs to the medicine.

 

Fjora is confident in her diagnosis - that Loki’s illness was, in fact, brought on by a bit of food sickness - and Thor allows himself to be reassured that Loki will recover in due time. It’s nearly three in the morning when Thor finally falls asleep at Loki’s side.

 

***

 

Loki does not wake in the morning, nor the evening thereafter. Thor’s worry turns to rage.

 

“I thought you said he’d get better,” Thor growls, pacing restlessly at the foot of Loki’s bed.

 

Fjora, usually so calm and collected, now looks quite nervous. It’s probably the static electricity in the air. She’d never failed Thor in anything - let alone in something as serious as this. “We thought he would, Majesty, truly, we did what we thought was best - ”

 

“I care not for your excuses! Just make him well, or I swear to you, you will rue the day you were ever appointed to this post.”

 

At that, Thor storms away. It’s easier than looking upon Loki’s feverish, unresponsive face.

 

***

 

On the third day, Thor’s rage turns to desperation.

 

“ _Do something,”_ Thor pleads. “Anything. Whatever the cost. Offer a reward.”

 

Thor’s healers exchange fleeting glances amongst themselves. They aren’t telling him something.

 

“What is it?” Thor says. “Speak, damn you!”

 

“Majesty, we have some…..ill news.” Fjora swallows nervously, “It is our opinion that…..Consort Loki was poisoned.”

 

The word hangs in the air. Its significance does not register for a solid few seconds.

 

“.... _What?_ ” it comes out as almost a whisper.

 

“Poisoned, My King,” she says again. “At the feast.”

 

Thor is aghast. “But we ate of the same dishes! I have my food tasted! That’s not possible!”

 

“The poison was one specific to the Jotun race…” Fjora explains, “Loki was…..targeted. That is why Your Majesty was unaffected.”

 

 _“Targeted!?_ By whom?” Thor immediately thinks of those present at the feast that night: all of Thor’s ambassadors and counsellors. The Princess and her retinue. Vanaheim’s dignitaries. Amora’s relatives. Many who would stand to benefit from having Loki out of the picture.

 

But to poison Loki so brazenly? While he sits at Thor’s side? The thought is….unfathomable.

 

“We do not know, sire,” is all Fjora says, softly.

 

“You’re sure?” Thor asks, his throat dry. “You’re sure it’s foul play?”

 

“We found evidence of it in his blood sample, Majesty. The poison is a rare one, erstwhile unknown to us. It was through sheer luck that we managed to identify it.”

 

Electricity crackles in the air. Thor swears he will find the one who did this, and make them suffer a thousand years of torture at his hands.

 

“Tell me you can save him.” Thor says, his voice breaking.  “Tell me he’ll live.”

 

Again, the healers fall silent. It’s answer enough.

 

Thor feels like the air has been punched out of his lungs. The thought of losing Loki is _unbearable._ Loki, who is Thor’s closest companion, confidante and lover. Loki, who is passionate and complex and sharp-tongued and full of vivacious energy. There is too much left unsaid, too much left to atone for. Thor couldn’t forgive himself if Loki’s last memory of this worldly realm was….well.

 

“There may be a way, ” Freja offers quietly. “It is a longshot, but we have heard -”

 

“Anything,” Thor breathes. “Anything. Name it, and I will have it done. Just save him. Please. Just….save him.”

 

 

***.

***

***

***

***

 

[two weeks earlier]

 

 

“Laufey has finally taken a mate,” Helblindi says. _And it could have been you._

 

“How lovely. Of which clan?” Loki asks mildly, looking down at hand of cards. Helblindi is just trying to get a rise out of him with a quip like that, but Loki’s not about to give him the satisfaction. It’s not like Loki ever wanted to marry his own uncle anyway. Does Helblindi really expect him to be _jealous?_

 

“Farbauti, of clan Sturlungar.”

 

“Prosperity and Fertility upon them,” Loki says automatically - the traditional Jotun benediction.

 

“Prosperity and Fertility.” Helblindi agrees.

 

 _Laufey shows his weakness in choosing Farbauti,_ Helblindi’s voice in Loki’s head continues. _He cannot control the warring factions on his own, without Clan Sturlungar’s help. His grasp on power is tenuous._

 

Helblindi draws from the deck. “We hope a child will soon result.”

 

_Laufey needs an heir. He’s desperate. He thinks this is the only way to hold onto the throne….but it is all in vain. Only the Casket will keep the peace._

 

“Children are a blessing,” Loki replies coolly, playing a card from his hand. It’s not like Helblindi ever tells him anything new and exciting. Every month with this same report: political strife, clan blood-feuds, unrest and hardship. Casket this, Casket that. Blah, blah.

 

It’s easy for Loki’s mind to drift while Helblindi is blabbering on and on. In Asgard there are hunting parties, feasts and festivals, balls and sport and all manner of gaiety. Jotunheim’s frozen wastes and petty conflicts feel…..very far away indeed.

 

“Ah, but it is good to see you. It has been far too long since I have had the pleasure of one of your visits. You were absent from court for nearly a month…..”

 

“I was ill,” Loki says without looking up from his cards, “But I am quite well now.”

 

Helblindi reaches for Loki’s hand from across the table, as to catch Loki’s attention - which he does. He assumes a very grave, heartfelt air, though his red eyes glisten with sadistic delight. Loki fights the urge to flinch.

 

“I hope you know you can come to me with your….bodily concerns. I realize it must be difficult to be a lone Jotun runtling amongst the Aesir. I myself had a runtling brother long ago; I have some experience with their physiology. I may be of some help.”

 

He’s making fun of him. Helblindi does love this little game they play.

 

“Was it a heat-sickness?” His mock-sincerity is nauseating. It’s moments like these when Loki wishes he had the magickal skill to be able to communicate telepathically, as Helblindi can. Having to hold his tongue and allow his brother to lecture at him, month after month, year after year, has been nothing short of torture.

 

“It was.”

 

“Your first?”

 

Loki’s jaw clenches only slightly. “Aye.”

 

Helblindi nods sympathetically.

 

_I can still smell the heat-stink on you._

 

Helblindi pats his hand. “No need to be embarrassed, child. Happens to us all. Lucky you had someone to mate you through it. How did you find it?”

 

Loki’s entire face burns. Which, as a Jotun, is not exactly a natural sensation.

 

“Exhausting,” he says at last. It’s the least humiliating answer he can think of.

 

“Brace yourself, little one. Your first heat is never too intense - your body is still awakening and blossoming - so the next time will strike you with utmost force. I would advise you ask your master to lock you away. I know you are faithful to him, but one can never be too sure. They call it a ‘madness’ for a reason. You are sexually mature now. Who knows…..perhaps a child of your own will result. Would you like that?”

 

_You took what I gave you, right? Before your heat?_

 

“Yes,” Loki says, very slowly and deliberately, and Helblindi is visibly relieved.

 

_Good. We cannot allow anything to distract you from your mission - especially not some half-blood brat. Not that Thor would want your bastard anyway._

 

“There is no greater fulfillment and honour for a runt than to bear its master’s young. Especially when the sire is as august and esteemed as our King. Prosperity and fertility.”

 

“Prosperity and fertility.” Loki mutters.

 

 _I had worried that you would start your heats before completing your task. Heats tend to….complicate matters. But, upon reflection, I believe that this might in fact this might be the breakthrough we’ve been waiting for. I had a thought -_ Helblindi’s smile grows ever more grotesque _\- That now you and Thor are a mated pair….._

 

Loki’s eyes flit towards his chaperone. Helblindi must look like a lunatic grinning crazily for what would appear to be _no reason_. The chaperone glances briefly up from her needlework, her face unsuspecting, and Loki quickly averts his gaze back to his cards.

 

 _That means you’re kin._ Helblindi goes on. _You could attempt a Bridge._

 

Whatever Loki thought he was going to say, it certainly wasn’t that. A stone forms in his stomach.

 

“I _can’t_ ….” Loki insists firmly, “........play this round.”

 

Helblindi narrows his red eyes just barely, and Loki fears he’ll see right through him, just as easily as he projects his voice into Loki’s mind.

 

“Are you sure?” Helblindi says.

 

“Yes. It is impossible.” Loki replies calmly, because it’s true. He’s no telepath, not like Helblindi. He can’t even respond to Helblindi mentally. How the Hel does Helblindi expect him to construct and maintain a Bridge?

 

Even if Loki could do it…..an invasion of that magnitude would not go without Thor’s notice, surely. It sounds so…..intrusive. A violation. Loki couldn’t - he couldn’t do that to Thor.

 

Could he?

 

_Yes, it would be impossible - I know the telepathic arts are not where your natural talents lie. Except, there are factors working in your favour. For better or worse, Thor is your mate now. He is your kin. You are are connected. Use his affection for you as a buttress for the Bridge._

 

“Perhaps you are not trying hard enough.” Helblindi says aloud. There is a hard glint in his eye that, even after all this time, still makes Loki tense.

 

_Thor must invite you into his mind - you cannot proceed without his consent. That is key, Loki: he must be the one let you in. But he trusts you, fool that he is. Have him volunteer some of his own private thoughts, wishes, desires, whatever. It matters not. Once inside, seek out his secrets. Secrets are all kept in one place, like a vault. If he shares but one, you will find them all._

 

“If only I had your skill,” Loki says doubtfully.

 

Helblindi is unfazed. _Open your mind to him first. Let him in. Show him something...sentimental. This type of magic is unfamiliar to him. He trusts you. He will lower his defences. Men are weak._

 

“Many great things can be accomplished with effort and dedication.” Helblindi says, motioning to their game board. “Just. _Try_.”

 

Loki huffs out through his nose and turns his attention back to his cards. It is immensely hard to focus on this stupid game, given the circumstances. He finally spots an appropriate play, and lays down one of his cards.

 

“See? Very good. I knew you could do it. But unfortunately for you…..that was precisely the card I needed.” Helblindi says, placing his final card. His lips curl into a terrifying, triumphant smile. “I believe that means I’ve won.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chronologically, that last scene with helblindi came first, and this entire chapter takes place approximately 3 years after the events in chapter 11. Next chapter will pick up with Loki on death’s door. If it wasn't obvious, I do love me some whump!loki ^_^


	13. A Porny Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> smut smut smut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place on alternate Chrysalis timeline in which Loki never wins Thor’s heart. Basically just an excuse for me to write shameful, gratuitous and totally self indulgent asshole!thor porn before I hunker down and finish this behemoth. I will pick up on the actual plot in the next chapter, which is mostly written and I hope to post in august when i get back from my honeymoon!
> 
> This is bad, bad, bad and I'm sorry but I just _had_ to get it out of my system. Enjoy!

 

Loki feels the first inklings of it a few moments before he’s due onstage - the telltale prickles under his skin, the sharpened senses, the restlessness that leaves him feeling antsy and unfocused. Loki inhales deeply through his nose: he’d been dreading this since the beginning. 

 

This can’t be happening. It’s  _ not _ . Loki feels fine. Perhaps it’s just a passing illness. Or a bout of nerves? He really does feel completely normal.

 

Really.

 

…..Fuck.

 

Loki takes his place at the centre of the floor, beneath the royal dias. Thor is up there, and by the looks of it he’s probably had his fair share of drink. The new girl is with him, her bosom heaving and rosy as she laughs, sycophantically, at perhaps some licentious joke. Sigryn is her name. And if Loki is not mistaken, she’s sporting a new armlet she hadn’t been wearing earlier….?

 

Well, it’s not like Loki cares. Thor might have wandering eye, but he always comes back.

 

The music starts and Loki misses his first beat, distracted as he is. He recovers quickly, though his limbs feel uncharacteristically heavy and uncoordinated. Loki manages to pull it together for the first while and put on a half-decent performance, but then midway through Loki missteps, and he has to take a moment to remember exactly what comes next in the choreography. He probably stands there for a full two or three seconds looking like a complete idiot. Normally he’d improvise a bit to cover for himself, but his mind is drawing a blank. He’s never once paused mid-dance like this. He tries a spin or two but that’s a mistake; he’s too dizzy to complete more than a few turns. He’s never felt so ungraceful. 

 

Loki powers through it as best he can, and it’s a relief when the music finally ends and his dance is over. That was the worst performance he’s ever given.

 

Maybe Thor hadn’t noticed? 

 

Loki bows halfheartedly to lukewarm applause, and quickly hazards a glance up towards to dias where Thor is seated. Thor is glowering back down on him, a dark cloud of displeasure on his face.

 

Yep, he noticed. 

 

_ Fuck. _

 

_ *** _

 

“Well?” Thor asks.

 

Loki’s fingers twitch restlessly against the flimsy fabric of his shift.

 

“Well what, my lord.”

 

“What was that?” Thor says impatiently.  “Do you mean to insult me with your lack of effort, or are you just getting lazy?”

 

It stings to hear, given that Thor has always been so pleased by Loki’s dancing. Frankly, Loki didn’t think he’d have such a discerning eye, or that he’d even been paying attention, given that Sigryn’s tits were heaving in his face all night.

 

There’s a long silence in which Thor looks like he’s expecting an answer. Loki doesn’t have one, and making excuses will only aggravate Thor further.

 

“I’m sorry,” Loki says. “It won’t happen again.”

 

Thor rolls his eyes. “Face down, over there.”

 

Placidly, Loki turns and bends himself over until his cheek is resting on the cool, enamel surface. Loki waits until his face is obscured before he sighs, dream-like, and shivers with anticipation. 

 

It feels like an age before he finally hears Thor stir behind him: first his footsteps drawing nearer, then the sound of him guzzling down the rest of his ale. Thor slams his empty stein down right next to Loki’s face, just to be an asshole. Loki watches the motion of a bead of froth oozing down the side of the cup. It’s the last real moment of lucidity, and Loki thinks:

 

_ This is really, really bad. _

 

Thor makes quick work of his own trousers and bunches up Loki’s shift inelegantly. Loki can tell what kind of mood he’s in. Thor grabs a handful of Loki’s ass, squeezing it in such a way that Loki’s cunt and asshole are exposed to the cool evening air. Unthinkingly Loki tilts his hips up in invitation. He’s so wet he can feel it dripping down his inner thighs. If he had any doubts about what’s happening with his body, they are now certainly dispelled. 

 

Thor penetrates him unceremoniously in one swift thrust, the way he does when he’s looking to get off quickly, as though Loki were nothing but an insentient orifice. He doesn’t even notice how aroused Loki is, nor does he hear the soft, breathy gasp Loki emits. 

 

“Oh, fuck,” Loki whispers to himself, squeezing his eyes closed. This feels so…. _ different.  _ So easy. Like his body wants nothing more than to open up for Thor. 

 

Thor is being purposefully rough, slamming into Loki with such force that he hits his cervix every time. He means this as a punishment, Loki knows - this quick, brutal fuck. And normally it would be. Normally, Loki would find this treatment painful. But for once it's exactly what Loki needs. 

 

_ My mate has so much strength,  _ Loki thinks gleefully to himself.  _ Strength and virility. He will surely sire sturdy, healthy children. _

 

Loki’s orgasm suprises him; he bites into the meat of his forearm to mask the sound of his pathetic groan. He’s had orgasms with Thor before - on the rare occasion when Thor is inclined to precipitate such an outcome -  but those were nothing like this. His vision goes white for a few seconds; all he can hear is the blood rushing in his ears as pleasure courses through his body.

 

Loki goes limp and lets Thor pummel into him as he pleases, jerking Loki back and forth with every sharp thrust, a hand on the back of Loki’s neck to pin him down. Thor cums with a growl and it's the single most satisfying thing Loki has ever experienced.

 

The fuck pulls Loki out of his daze somewhat. He’s suddenly very keenly aware of Thor’s weight atop him and the sharp edge of the desk digging painfully into his stomach.  Revulsion soon sets in at the realization that Thor had come inside him. That….might be a problem.

 

“Don’t disappoint me again,” Thor says, pulling out and tucking himself back in his trousers.

Loki straightens himself stiffly and smooths down his rumpled shift. His knees are so wobbly they feel like they’ll give out at any moment.

 

“Yes my lord.”

  
  


***

 

Loki spends the rest of his evening in the harem bathing pool, flushing himself out as best he can and masturbating furiously. He’s annoyed at himself, mostly, that his stupid biology has brought about the present circumstances. He just has to make it through the next few days. It can’t last more than that, surely. He’ll jerk off when he needs to, and with any luck Thor won’t call him to his bed again. Loki can’t afford another slip-up. 

 

How bad can it be?

 

***

 

The next morning is worse. Much worse.

 

Loki awakes humping a pillow - anything to relieve the incessant throbbing. It’s humiliating but at least his cellmate is a deep sleeper. 

 

If he were in Jotunheim, his mate would be here with him, fucking him through this. Not leaving him alone to suffer. It would not only be considered cruel but also a gross neglect of duty.

 

But no one in Asgard understands. No one even knows what Loki is going through. 

 

Most disturbing are the fantasies.  Fantasies about sex he’d had with Thor over the years - sex he’d never really wanted, even.  Fantasies about being taken over and over in every possible location and position. In the baths, on the balcony overlooking the city. Even in the audience room, upon the gilded throne of Asgard (Loki dwells on this one much longer than he’d like to admit)

 

Loki cums but it feels hollow and purposeless. The admonitions he’d laid down for himself the day before are quickly forgotten: his entire being  _ yearns _ for Thor. And there’s no way to see him until at least the later evening - provided, of course, Thor even summons him at all. It’s not fair that for all Loki has submitted to Thor, when Loki at last needs him, Thor is out of reach. 

 

If only he could get Thor to fuck him. Ha! What a novel problem. Loki has never in his life wanted for sex. 

 

He’ll have to think of a way to get Thor’s attention somehow…..

 

Loki is jolted out of his reverie by the sound of the door clicking open and closed. Immediately Loki lets his hands drift away from where he’d been palming himself midway to another orgasm. It’s Sigryn, Thor’s latest tart and the last person Loki would wish to see, even under normal circumstances. They lock eyes with each other from across the bathing chamber. Loki is grateful for the cover of rose petals floating in the water. He’s not sure how he’d otherwise explain the hard-on he’s currently sporting. 

 

“Get out.”

 

Sigryn wrinkles her nose at him, though she does look away first. “You always keep the water too cold.”

 

Most of Thor’s concubines are wary of Loki; he’s conspicuous and unmistakable in his otherness amidst Thor’s single-gendered concubines. Then again, Loki never did much to help himself fit in. When Loki was preoccupied with finding the Casket, he saw them as hurdles to overcome in his bid to win Thor’s affection. But Loki’s long given up on that, so now they are just nuisances. 

 

This girl is brazen; she doesn’t yet understand the pecking order. If she did, she’d know to stay out of Loki’s way.

 

“I have seniority and I was here  _ first _ .”

 

“Yes. You have….seniority,” she says with a wry smile that makes Loki seethe. “How long have you been in his Majesty's service again?”

 

“I said,  _ get out _ !”

 

“I have every right to be here, runt.” She twists the hot tap so steaming water juts out, ruining Loki’s perfect frigid bath.

 

It’s not as though she’s not beautiful. Maybe in another life Loki might have found her alluring.

 

But as it is, all Loki can think is:

 

_ RIVAL. _

 

Loki shrugs. “Suit yourself.”

 

The sudden change of attitude gives Sigryn pause. She narrows her eyes at him.

 

“You don’t mind?”

 

“I don’t mind,” Loki echoes, smiling sweetly. “Be my guest.”

 

Sigryn is unconvinced but nonetheless she descends into the bathing pool, towards where the water is quickly becoming disagreeably hot. Loki waits until she dips down to wet her face and hair to finish, “So long as  _ you  _ don’t mind I’ve cum four times into this water.”

 

It takes a few glorious seconds for this to register, but when it does, the look of pure horror and disgust on her face is totally worth the social ramifications Loki will no doubt face for this. The other harem inmates already think he’s a freak, so what does it matter? 

 

Sigryn bolts out of the water with such speed that her tits look like they’ll fly off her. She grabs a towel and wraps it around her, shooting Loki the dirtiest look as she turns to exit. 

 

“Good for the skin,” Loki calls after her.

 

***

 

Loki can’t call it a plan because it wasn’t…..well, planned. 

 

In most things Loki acts with purpose. His choice of hairstyle, for instance, is entirely intentional. Loki knows Thor likes for him wear his hair loose, even though it is more appropriate for a concubine of his status to wear their hair in neat plaits during the day. Loki compromises by tying his hair back in such a way as most of it falls loose about his shoulders. Though Loki feels as wanton as a common whore, it doesn’t mean he needs to look like it.

 

Next, Loki applies sweet perfumes to his neck and pulse points. It hardly masks the scent, but Loki can’t do anything more about that. He’s already spent all morning in the bath, mastubating over and over until most of the water was probably comprised of his spendings. Call it Loki’s little contribution to the skincare regiment of the harem denizens.

 

If Loki had a choice, he wouldn’t have attended the tournament. It’s humiliating to be out in public, reeking of pheromones and bodily fluids and sporting a half-crazed gleam in his eye. His only consolation is that these Asgardians don’t seem to have any sense of smell. If anyone is picking up on the biological signals Loki’s pumping out, Loki can’t tell. Loki would have never been made to step foot outside his chambers if he were in Jotunheim. 

 

But such as it is, Loki is pressed to make an appearance. Not only because it’s something of a requirement for harem inmates to stand around, look beautiful and simper over their master, but also because Loki can’t pass up the opportunity to put himself in Thor’s eye. Loki’s not about to let some other bitch take his place tonight. Not if he can help it.

 

All of this is nothing but a thinly veiled excuse for Thor to strut around like a vainglorious peacock. Show off. That idiot Volstagg isn’t even strong enough to best him. Thor is, without question, the pinnacle of masculinity. He doesn’t need some stupid tournament to prove it. Nonetheless, watching him beat the crap out of his moron friends is as satisfying as it is arousing. Loki supposes it was worth prying himself out of confinement just to see pretty lord Fandral get his nose bashed in. My my. Thor oughtn’t wrestle so rough. Loki’s cunt clenches. Damn it! If Loki doesn’t get laid tonight he might kill something.

 

Of course Thor is declared the winner. He clasps arms with his bloody, bruised competitors and smiles winsomely at the crowd, who cheer enthusiastically in return. This is but a small tournament, more for sport than anything else, so there are only the usual stable of courtiers and hangers-on in attendance. Loki wills Thor to look his way and notice the way Loki’s worn his hair and the extra bit of kohl around his eyes. 

 

But instead, Thor’s attention is fixated on Sigryn, who is currently presenting him with the victor’s wreath. She kisses him on the cheek, and he smiles in return.

 

Loki isn’t sure what happens next. It’s almost like an out-of-body experience. All he knows is that she’s touching  _ his  _ mate, and if he puts a baby in her, Loki will surely throw himself out of the highest tower in despair. Well, Loki isn’t about to let that happen if he can help it. Let them see who is truly worthy of bearing children for the King of Asgard!

  
  


***

 

“ _ Animal,”  _ Thor snarls, backhanding Loki so hard he crumples to the ground. “Have you lost your damn mind?”

 

_ Yes,  _ Loki thinks madly, cradling his face and blinking out the stars in his vision. Loki’s not sure he’s ever seen Thor so pissed - not even when Thor discovered his witchcraft and had Loki bound under magic-inhibiting cuffs. Loki had been afraid for his life then. Now, in the face of Thor’s rage, he’s fucking  _ turned on. _

 

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

 

“I’m sorry,” Loki pants. “I….don’t know what came over me.”

 

“You ripped out a chunk of Sigryn’s hair!”

 

Loki vaguely remembers this, but cannot bring himself to conjure any remorse. She’d deserved it, after all, for putting her filthy hands on  _ his  _ mate. And she was damn lucky Loki’s magic had been bound, or else she’d be sporting more than just a black eye and a patch of torn hair.

 

_ “ _ I didn’t like her touching you,” Loki says impulsively.

 

Thor’s mouth drops, dumbstruck.

 

“You have no claim on me!” He shouts incredulously. “I own you!”

 

At That Thor hauls Loki up firmly by the biceps, gripping him so tight Loki’s sure it’ll leave bruises. Loki delights in this manhandling. Thor can be quite rough, but Loki knows he takes it better than the others. The thought fills him with perverse pride. Thor’s precious dainty well-born ladies can’t fuck dirty like Loki can.

 

“Do you even care how badly it reflects upon me that an inmate of my harem would behave in such a vulgar manner….? Have you no sense of shame?” 

 

Thor goes on, getting redder in the face, until the veins in his temples begin to bulge. It brings to mind the thick veins on the underside of his cock. That thick, delicious cock that stretches Loki out just right and rubs him in all the right ways. Thor is truly magnificent. The power in his back and legs, the vitality, the strength….

 

Loki blinks - realizing, belatedly, that the room has fallen silent. Oop. Thor has stopped talking. What was the last thing he said? Something about honour. Or was it dishonour? Really, Loki should have been paying closer attention.

 

“I understand,” says Loki solemnly.

 

Thor points his finger in Loki’s face. “I swear, if you embarrass me like that one more time I’ll sell you.”

 

_ That  _ gets Loki’s attention. He knows what being sold would mean for someone who looks like him. Moreover, in his current state of mind, the prospect of being separated from Thor is  _ unbearable. _

 

Loki drops to his knees, his fists clenching Thor’s trousers. “I’m sorry. I’ll behave. I’ll be good, I’ll be good. I swear. Please don’t sell me.”

 

“Get up,” Thor spits. “Pathetic.”

 

Loki does, scrambling back to his feet in a rush. He puts on his best contrite face - the face he often uses to weasel out of trouble. Big eyes, lips softly pouted. Loki knows he looks especially young when he does it. He also knows Thor has something of a weakness for it.

 

Thor must be  _ really  _ pissed, because he isn’t buying it today. He bares his teeth, “Issue Loki forty switches.”

 

“Thank you,” Loki says automatically. A switching he can handle, even if it’s more than double the amount he usually gets. It’s certainly preferable to being sold to a brothel.

 

Quickly Heurig fetches the switch they use to punish Thor’s harem slaves. It’s light and tapered, with nowhere near the bite of a proper flogging. It would not do to permanently mar the flesh of Thor’s prized beauties.

 

Loki’s had this used on him enough that he knows what to do, even in his hazy state of mind. And though he does not relish the prospect of getting beaten, there are aspects of this that Loki may be able to work to his advantage….

 

Very deliberately Loki trails his fingers up his body to unclasp the golden clips on his shift. He takes his time with this. If he’s going to be made to strip for his punishment, he may as well make the most of it. And it’s working: Thor is staring back at him hungrily, his eyes following the subtle tease of Loki’s cocked hip. Thor is so predictable, really; Loki should never have doubted himself.

 

At length, Loki allows the fabric to flutter off his body to reveal every inch of his smooth, creamy skin. All that’s left on him are his armlets, his cuffs and his sandals. He turns, stepping out of the shift pooled at his feet, and thereby presents Thor with a full view of his back and ass. All the while, he feels the weight of Thor’s stare, tracking his every movement.

 

_ Good. _

 

The coolness of the golden column is welcome against Loki’s forehead as he braces his body against it. If they could just beat this fever out of him, that would be swell. Maybe it’ll help him come to his senses.

 

The first sting of the lash across his back is always a surprise, even though Loki is expecting it. Loki lets out a soft little whimper, half in earnest and half for show. His skin is so sensitized even this feels erotic, and knowing Thor is watching only adds to the thrill. Loki is not a particularly hardy individual - accustomed, as he is, to a pampered life inside the harem’s gilded cage - but something about this pain is sweet, and only seems to stoke the flames of Loki’s lust.

 

Heurig counts off each switch one by one as he methodically whips Loki’s back, ass, and upper thighs. The first few lashes have some bite but the pain is not unbearable. Loki has often been on the receiving end of ten, fifteen lashes for his little acts of insubordination and mischief. Insofar as that, he knows what to expect. It’s as the lashes start to overlap and accumulate, aggravating already oversensitized skin, that it starts to really hurt. Soon, Loki is crying out with each new stripe and fighting the urge to curl away from the pain. And even so, all the while, Loki remains unwaveringly, maddeningly aroused. 

 

“Don’t break his skin,” Thor instructs, tone clipped.

 

Heurig acknowledges this with his usual servile  _ yes, majesty,  _ and resumes meting out Loki’s punishment. He’s trying to space out the lashes, clearly, so as to avoid cutting into Loki too deep.

 

Unfortunately, his aim could use improvement.

 

“ _ Ahh,”  _ Loki groans after a particularly sharp stripe.

 

“I said, don’t break his skin!” Thor snarls.

 

“Apologies, my king - “

 

“Enough! Loki, turn around.”

 

Loki does, and it’s only then, without the column’s support, that he realizes how dangerously light-headed he is. His entire back sings with pain; they’d only barely made it past thirty lashes. Loki must be bleeding if Thor has commanded Heurig to stop, but his back and thighs hurt so much all over he can’t discern precisely where the injury is.

 

Dizzily, Loki notes that Thor has the switch now. He’s unsure what Thor will do with it.

 

“Give me your palms.”

 

Loki does, instinctively, and Thor issues one lash to each in rapid succession. Loki retracts his hands with a wince, but thankfully that seems to be all Thor intended to dole out. 

 

His bloodlust thus sated, Thor tosses the switch to the side. His face is still stormy, but now at least, some of that anger is directed at Heurig.

 

“I am far too lenient with you,” he says.

 

“Yes, I know. I am grateful, sire,” Loki answers quickly.

 

At that, Thor reclines in his armchair, looking altogether far too appealing for someone who’s just had Loki’s back whipped raw. Loki can smell his arousal from across the room, and it’s a struggle to stifle the triumph he feels bubbling inside him. Loki has long suspected Thor has a bit of a sadist in him. Loki has never been more thankful for the fact then this moment.

 

Thor signals to Heurig, irritation still rife in his voice, “You, get out. You,” - he signals to Loki - “Come here so I may make use of you.”

 

Loki does not need to be asked twice. He’s upon Thor within seconds. The pain from his lashing does not deter Loki in the slightest; neither does the prospect that sex in his current state almost certainly will lead to…..

 

No, Loki’s hormone-addled brain only cares about one thing. Greedily, Loki draws out that fat cock, and clambers atop Thor with about as much grace as a overexcited boar. Loki thrills when he realizes that Thor will let him fuck face-to-face. At this point, Loki would take sex however Thor would choose to give it, but face-to-face Thor will be easier to taste and smell.

 

Loki wastes no time aligning Thor’s cock to his pussy. Sinking down on it makes him feel whole, like he is made complete by that thick cock inside him. Loki only takes a moment to appreciate the feeling, throwing his head back in a contented sigh, before he proceeds to give Thor the most unabashed, energetic fuck of his life. His back and ass sting painfully with every frantic movement, but the sensation is dulled now, and Loki hardly pays it any heed. He’s united with his mate, at last.

 

Thor seems rather bewildered at Loki’s eagerness - bewildered and almost vaguely concerned; with a certain ‘ _ what the fuck’  _ look about his face that might almost be comical in any other scenario. Loki does not usually fuck with so much enthusiasm - certainly not immediately after a lashing. Not that Thor is complaining, of course: he merely sits there, puzzled, one hand curled loosely around Loki’s hip.

 

“I better not catch you catfighting with my girls again,” Thor tells him, breathless.

 

“Yes, yes,” Loki says, impatient, as he bounces in Thor’s lap. Gods, when has sex ever felt so good? He can’t believe there were times when he hadn’t enjoyed it, or hadn’t wanted it. Having been so wound tight all day and then let loose upon Thor, it only takes a few minutes before Loki’s pace starts to falter, and he comes with a strangled cry.

 

Loki slumps, his head falling forward on Thor’s shoulder, and tries to catch his breath. The feeling is in incredible - not just the orgasm, but also the sense of oneness with his mate. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before.

 

Thor pries him off, gripping him by the throat.

 

“What’s wrong with you?” Thor inspects Loki’s face closely. “Did you just….cum?”

 

Loki pants raggedly. Already the urge to seek out another orgasm is building. He is so aroused it is hard to think. His hips rock in small, abortive movements. 

 

Loki licks his lips. He doesn’t even remember to be embarrassed when he finally admits: “I’m in heat.”

.

Thor stares at him for a long while. Then, abruptly he laughs, deep rumbles that reverberate into Loki’s body.

 

“Is that why you’ve been acting like such a slut?” He leans back in his chair, amused, and releases Loki’s throat. Clearly, the significance of this rite of passage is lost on him. He shoots Loki an expectant, annoyed look. “Well, get on with it.”

 

Gratefully, Loki resumes. He’s sloppy and unsophisticated with it, frantic to get as much out of this as he can while Thor is available to him. He feels drunk. Everything about Thor is intoxicating. His strength, Norns,  _ his smell….. _ Loki can’t help it when he licks up Thor’s neck-

 

“What the fuck, Loki.” Thor growls, jerking away.

 

Loki lets out a frustrated whine. “I can’t help it.”

 

“Well, help it. I am not here to service you. Just finish me with your mouth.” Thor grumbles, in such a way that implies he has better things to do than laze around and let Loki take his pleasure. 

 

Loki slumps in abject disappointment. A protest burgeons on his lips, but Loki quickly swallows it back down - he has enough of his wits about him to know not to provoke Thor right now. Having no choice but to obey, Loki dismounts, and immediately regrets the loss of Thor’s cock inside him. His hunger for sex is such that sucking Thor off would not exactly sate his innermost craving. Nonetheless, Thor is his only sexual outlet, so Loki elects to make the most of it. 

 

Loki has sucked Thor off plenty of times in the last three years - a tedious chore, but one he has nonetheless come to excel at. Now, however, it feels new and exciting to sink down between Thor’s massive thighs, take his cock in hand, and give the head an open-mouthed kiss.

 

Loki brazenly looks Thor in the eye and licks up the length of his cock. Thor inhales sharply - he likes that - but then he remembers himself and says, “Eyes down.”

 

Tch. Such a stickler for protocol. Loki obediently casts his eyes down and gets to work, sucking Thor off with a zeal that surprises even himself. Thor’s taste is heady and masculine, though on him Loki can taste himself too. Maybe, Loki thinks, if he does a good enough job with this, Thor’ll let him back onto his cock.

 

This prospect has Loki redoubling his efforts. It’s both a consolation and encouragement to hear Thor curse under his breath - Thor is difficult to get off orally unless he’s actively fucking Loki’s face. Loki preens at the knowledge that he’s doing a good job pleasuring his mate, and he takes Thor deeper, bobbing his head vigorously until almost the entire length of Thor’s cock is coated with viscous saliva. What he lacks in technique Loki makes up for in sloppy enthusiasm, and Loki doesn’t stop until tears are beading at his eyelashes and his throat begins to spasm.

 

The hot burst of semen across his face comes as a shock; Loki blinks several times in surprise as Thor comes copiously on his cheeks, nose and lips, without having given a word of warning. He grips Loki’s hair tightly to keep him in place, as if Loki would try to get away anyway, and uses this as leverage to thrust into Loki’s mouth and ride out the rest of his climax.

 

Thor sinks back down in his armchair, sated and utterly mollified. He grins wolfishly down at Loki, who by this point is covered in bodily fluids and desperately gasping for breath.

 

“I just think you need to learn a little restraint,” Thor says brightly, delivering a light slap to Loki’s unsullied cheek. 

 

He’s gone mere moments later, leaving Loki blotchy-faced, wheezing and naked on the floor. Loki wipes his mouth and finds that a long strand of come and saliva has been hanging off his chin. Loki carefully collects Thor’s spend off his face, licks it off his fingers, and jerks himself off to an unsatisfying finish. 

 

***

 

Intellectually, Loki is fully aware of how low he’s sunk.

 

Thor is watching him curiously, like all this is nothing but a deranged spectacle. Perhaps it is. Loki can smell that he’s aroused and his pathetic heat-brain is hurt Thor won’t just fuck him. He just wants Thor to want him the same way Loki does. Does he not understand that they’re mates? 

 

“Do you love me?”

 

“Wh-what?”

 

“It’s a simple question. Do you love me?”

 

Loki’s head swims. It  _ is  _ rather hard to think, impaled as he is upon Mjolnir’s unyielding shaft. He can’t decide if this ought to be a great honour - fucking Thor’s majestic Star-Hammer - or if it’s degrading. All he knows is that Thor commanded it, pointing down at where he’d placed Mjolnir and snapping his fingers as if Loki were a dog. And Loki obeyed, so easily and without hesitation Thor seemed a bit surprised. Certainly, Loki never thought Thor to be so inventive. The depths of his depravity is only outmatched by Loki’s own. 

 

Distantly, Loki wonders why Mjolnir chooses to lift for Thor. How could a man like Thor ever be considered worthy?

 

“Yes, my king.” He swallows tightly. “I love you.”

 

Thor crosses his arms, mirth evident in his eyes. Loki suspects he likes this, having Loki so desperate and willing and eager to please. The incident with Sigryn, it seems, has been long forgotten. Thor has found something much more interesting to play with.

 

“I don’t know Loki, I think you’re just saying that because you want to get fucked.”

 

“I love you. Very much,” Loki tries again. 

 

“How much?”

 

Wetness is forming at Loki’s eyelashes. This is so damn frustrating. His heat has exhausted him. If he knew what Thor wanted to hear he’d just say it. At this point, Loki is past caring.

 

“More than the sun and the stars.”

 

Thor laughs. “Poetic. Tell me how Mjolnir feels inside you.”

 

Loki makes an odd gurgling noise. If he could speak he’d say that the hammer is too solid and unforgiving, that the leather ridges feel unnatural inside him. It’s not what he  _ needs.  _

 

“You don’t like it?”

 

Loki can only shake his head. His tongue is too dry and heavy in his mouth. 

 

“Is it because so many of your kind met their bloody end beneath her might?” Thor says, gripping Loki by the chin. The look on his face is so cold and terrible that even in his heat Loki wants to recoil, yet his touch is disarmingly tender. “You cry so prettily, my sweet. Rest assured I would have never unleash Mjolnir’s awesome wrath on you. You, I would spare. You, I would chase down. I would destroy your kin to get to you. I would clasp you in chains and take you, over and over, until you had neither the strength left to fight me nor the will to try.”

 

Thor smiles, but there is no warmth in it. His eyes are stormy and hard. “Beg for me to fuck you.”

 

“Please fuck me,” Loki repeats dutifully. He’s never felt so powerless.

 

Thor makes a show of considering. His thumb toys with Loki’s lower lip. 

 

“Say, ‘I’m a dirty runtling slut.’”

 

“I’m a -” Loki swallows, unsure if he’d heard that correctly. Shame permeates him to the core, because he knows it to be true. “I’m a dirty runtling slut.”

 

“I know, sweetheart,” Thor nods. “I can see how much you need it. And because I am a merciful, kind master, I will give it to you."

 

Thor helps Loki ease off Mjolnir, and positions him instead on the floor beside it. Loki goes on all fours happily, relieved and grateful to finally get what he’s been after. Thor kneels behind him and shoves Loki’s knees apart with little finesse. He then takes Loki’s hips in hand and manoeuvers so that his ass is upturned in the air. Thor hums approvingly and kneads the soft flesh being presented to him. He spits right on Loki’s hole, and uses his thumb to push the wetness in.

 

The fog of lust parts just enough for Loki to realize what is happening. He digs in his heels.

 

“Wait wait,” Loki pants, rearing up.

 

“What? You love getting fucked in the ass.”

 

Loki can hear the smirk in his voice. Gods, Loki hates him.

 

“I just really want…” Loki begins, but stops himself before he finishes:  _ To get pregnant.  _

 

With his fertility spiking like this, it might be for the best to let Thor finish in his ass. It’s not like Loki has any contraceptives at hand. And even if he did, he’s not sure he trusts his heated self enough to take them. Maybe in his heat, he won’t find the act so unpleasant. Maybe he might even like it.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing,” Loki says miserably.  “Nevermind. My king.”

 

“No, tell me,” Thor coos, gently petting Loki’s hair from behind in a mockery of intimacy. “What do you want, Loki, sweetheart?”

 

Loki grits his jaw. “For you to fuck my ass.”

 

Thor laughs. He knows full well how much Loki hates when they do it like that; the act of sodomy is expressly reserved for slaves, and Thor only seems to want to do it when he’s feeling particularly mean.

 

“Don’t lie to me, Lokes.”

 

Loki breathes heavily through his nose. Every fibre of his being rebels against what he’s asking Thor to do.

 

“If you keep spilling in me while I’m in heat we’ll make a child, “ Loki says at last.

 

Thor is quiet behind him.

 

“Huh,” Thor says, like this thought had never occurred to him. Loki hates him for that too. Thor rubs his cock teasingly up the seam of Loki’s ass and pussy, as if to keep Loki guessing which one he’ll pick. “Don’t you want my child, Loki?”

 

Loki whimpers. Yes, he does. He wants so badly for Thor to sink inside him and fill him with seed. Mere days ago Loki had no desire to bear a child for Thor, even though as his thrall it would be his duty to do so if Thor should wish it. It’s this damn heat that’s making him crazy, making him want to be bred like an animal. 

 

“What I want is irrelevant,” Loki manages at last. “My king.”

 

“The most sense you’ve spoken in a long while,” Thor says, sliding his cock into Loki’s cunt. “Mmmm. Maybe I will give you a child.”

 

Loki lets out a pathetic mewl. It’s exactly what his body craves and he hates himself for it. 

 

“You’ll grow heavy with it, too fat and heavy to dance, and everyone at court shall know the honour I have bestowed on you.”

 

Loki sobs.  _ Yes, yes.  _

 

Loki has never wanted Thor’s children, that much is true, but in this moment the thought of carrying Thor’s offspring is so appealing, so good, that Loki orgasms spontaneously without even having touched himself at all. Thor must’ve been much more worked up than Loki imagined, because he fucks violently into Loki only a few times before he’s grinding his orgasm into Loki’s receptive body.

 

Loki collapses bonelessly as soon as Thor lets go of his hair - he hadn’t even noticed Thor pulling it -  and savours the mindless bliss that always sets in after an orgasm.Thor’s come is hot and sticky inside him; conception at this point is probably inevitable. He’s so high on endorphins, so utterly depleted, that Loki can’t remember why he’d been fighting so hard against this in the first place. It’s his nature, after all. His body wants it. Thor wants it. Nothing in Loki’s life has been of his own making. Why struggle against it now?

 

From behind him comes Thor’s laugh, cruel and fond all at once. 

 

“I love you too, Loki.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, phew, that's done. We will return to your regularily scheduled chrysalis programming in a few weeks, once i finish cleaning up the next update :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re back! With plot this time!
> 
> Thank you everyone for the well wishes and congrats! I had a wonderful wedding and honeymoon, but I’m glad to be back to real life now :)
> 
> Special shout out to [curds_and_wheyface](http://archiveofourown.org/users/curds_and_wheyface) for meeting me in London! What a treat to finally meet one of my fav writers. She didn’t let me pack her in my suitcase to take her home though (SELFISH). Nonetheless, she is a dream so this particular batch of melodramatic thorki schmoop is dedicated to her.
> 
> Apologies for any errors. I had….a lot of wine while proofreading this. Hope ya'll enjoy :))

 

 

_Some would wonder, upon reading this tale, why it was that Loki-Consort, beloved of the King, attempted to Bridge with his master, His Majesty Thor of Asgard, the Splendid and Mighty._

 

_Some might say, perhaps, it was out of loyalty to his native realm. But no - Loki never had much regard for the homeland which had treated him so unkindly._

 

_Or, perhaps it was out of simmering hatred for the man who’d enslaved him and kept him as his thrall. This also was not so, for while Loki couldn’t exactly say he was besotted with his master, neither could he say he hated him._

 

_Or, perhaps, it was the allure of the riches which would have been heaped at his feet, were he to uncover the truth of the whereabouts of the Casket of Ancient Winters. This was the most absurd reason yet, for what riches could possibly be beyond his reach as Consort of the King of Asgard?_

 

_No, the reality of it was much more mundane. Loki would tell you, simply, that he’d Bridged with Thor because he was curious._

 

_He hadn’t known what to expect when he’d first crafted the spell. Unpractised magic can be unstable, at best. He’d found, to his surprise and delight, that the seidr actually came quite naturally to him. There were preexisting astral tendrils linking himself to Thor, though at the time Loki hadn’t wanted to dwell on why that was so. It certainly made the Bridge’s construction a straightforward affair. And as soon as it was formed, the rest was intuitive._

 

_Thor was easily beguiled by the vision Loki presented him - a memory of Odin, which, while genuine, was certainly not selected without careful deliberation. Thor watched it unquestioningly. He had not the dexterity, nor the astuteness, nor the guile to try and uncover what lurked beneath its glossy surface. And Loki was glad for it, because he had a lot of secrets that needed keeping…._

 

_It was impossible to learn anything about Thor while Loki was hosting, but Loki made the most of his turns to show Thor this and that. Sweet sentimental nothings, mostly of Odin. Hopefully these would underscore the nature of his and Odin’s relationship, and maybe lessen Thor’s hatred for the old man a bit. These memories too needed considerable curation, however, for while he and Odin had never engaged in anything explicitly sexual, Loki can’t say everything that transpired between them was entirely innocent, either. Seeing these memories in retrospect made Loki a little queasy. Back then, Loki had been so relieved to not have to fuck Odin that he’d gratefully endured all Odin’s caresses and lingering stares. He’d sat at Odin’s feet like a dog and let the old man feed him sweets by hand….Thor had, at least, allowed Loki a measure of dignity._

 

_Well, it wasn’t like Loki could show him any memories of Jotunheim. Too many of these contained Helblindi, or Laufey, or the grand ice-palaces in which Loki spent his youth. Didn’t exactly jive with the over-embellished sob story Loki had constructed to coax Thor to pity._

 

_(No, Loki hadn’t been born to poor fishermen and sold into slavery to pay off his dam’s debt after his tragic demise at sea. Loki just had to get creative, didn’t he? At least the part about having a greedy, conniving brother was true.)_

 

_The first Bridge hosted by Thor was altogether a different experience. Not knowing what to expect, Loki dutifully watched what was presented to him: memories of Thor as a youth, freckled and willful and brimming with hormones. Chasing girls, hunting down rabbits, tormenting the palace staff. Annoyingly capable of smooth-talking his way out of any caper. Overindulged in every possible respect. Sif had given him a bloody nose. He’d rightly deserved it._

 

_Now, the the thing about Bridges, the thing that made Loki realize why Helblindi had been so insistent that Loki use them on Thor, is that Bridges are not exactly….solid. Bridges have perforations, seams - gaps where the host’s memory is lacking. Their surfaces are smoothed over by intuition rather than by the recollection of precise detail. They are nothing but an illusion; much as an image projected on a screen, they have neither breadth nor substance. Their edges are hard to find, but the cracks are certainly there….if one knows where to look._

 

_Thor had been showing him a memory of flying with Mjolnir at the time. It’s not that it wasn’t an exhilarating memory, or that Loki wasn’t interested. It’s just that...well. Thor must have more fascinating aspects to explore, surely…?_

 

_Loki couldn’t help that he was curious._

 

_By then, Loki had successfully carried out several Bridges with Thor, and he’d felt confident enough in his skill to try and look beyond what Thor was showing him. Carefully, he scoped out the memory’s edges - an undertaking which took far more patience than Loki knew Thor possessed. It was delicate, finicky work, and all the while he’d had to keep an eye on the unfolding memory, lest Thor suspect he wasn’t really watching._

 

_Loki truly hadn’t expected it all to collapse. All he knew was that he’d been prodding, prodding, and in so doing he’d accidentally made a tear. The tear grew, split apart by forces unknown, as if the memory were an overfull sack of grain bursting at the seams. Then, everything began to fall apart._

 

_“Focus,” he remembers telling Thor. But it was too late; the memory was shattering. Falling away. Thor was no longer flying with Mjolnir. He was...he was….._

 

_….Looking down at Loki._

 

_Or rather, Loki was looking down at himself from what was certainly Thor’s point of view. He could never have imagined how truly pathetic he’d looked, crying and cowering on the floor like that, until he witnessed it for himself first-hand. Loki had never felt so humiliated, before or since. And that’s saying something, considering that Loki’s entire life had been something of a long string of humiliating, awful experiences. Reliving it from Thor’s perspective was nothing short of torture._

 

_But, because he was in Thor’s memory, Loki had no choice but to watch. And this time, he hadn’t the wherewithal to try and look away._

 

_Loki reached down towards himself, only to have past-Loki flinch away in terror, his beautiful eyes wide and frightened and brimming with tears._

 

_Loki-as-Thor retracted his hand, horrified. They were all staring at him, judging him, like they knew the terrible thing he’d done. This was all his fault. Why couldn’t he control himself?_

 

_He couldn’t keep living like this, as a creature of base impulse and cruelty. To have done this to the only being he truly cared about? What kind of king would that make him? What kind of man? He would never be beloved by his people were he to continue down this path. He knew he had to change, though in truth he had no idea how or even where to begin….._

 

_All at once, Loki was snapped back to his own consciousness. He was appalled at himself for doing this to Thor, his mate, whom he hadn’t chosen but nonetheless had come to care for in return. This man, whose future was linked to Loki’s in ways Loki was only just beginning to understand. Thor had trusted him, and in return Loki had given him nothing but betrayal._

 

_Loki just couldn’t do it. He’d have to tell Helblindi it was impossible. He’d say that the Bridge failed or - or that he couldn’t get the magic to work in the first place. To share something so intimate with his brother…. ?_

 

_No, he’ll not seek out the Casket in this manner. Nor any other of Thor’s secrets. There must be another way._

 

***

 

Loki comes to consciousness murkily. The first thing that registers is the ache of stiff muscles and the throbbing within his head. Slowly he becomes aware of muffled voices milling about him, though he can’t make out what they’re saying. There’s a soft, familiar purr all around him. It reminds him of home.

Loki’s eyes open a slit.

 

“Majesty, he wakes!” comes the squeal of some female voice. Then heavy footsteps draw near.

 

Thor’s face, blurry at first, comes slowly into focus. Thor is staring at him wide-eyed, and he recoils slightly when Loki blinks up at him. He recovers quickly, however, and his lips melt into a tight smile.

 

“Hello, Loki,” he says. His hand hovers hesitantly over Loki’s forehead for a moment, before he finally lays it down. It feels too hot but Loki welcomes it anyway.

 

“Thor,” Loki sighs.

 

It’s difficult to place where he is, at first, though slowly he comes to recognize that he’s in the imperial bedroom. He finds he has no idea how long he’d been unconscious, nor does he know what time of day it is. Or even, _what_ day it is. He can’t recall his last waking moments. His dreams had been so vivid and disorienting…..

 

Bits of memory come back to Loki in patches: the mad fervor of his heat, the visit to the lake, the disastrous Bridge. The feast.

 

“I’m…” Loki croaks.

 

_Blue._

 

It’s then Loki realizes what Thor had been startled by: his natural red eyes. Thor had never seen them before.

 

“I’m blue,” Loki says, feeling feverish. “I’m blue.”

 

Thor just nods with a tense press of his lips. “Yes. It…..happened as soon as we brought it in.”

 

At the foot of the bed, the source of the gentle hum, is the Casket of Ancient Winters. Just...sitting there, within arm’s reach.

 

Thor follows Loki’s gaze. “It was the only way I could save you. It brought you back to me.” He cups Loki’s cheek. “I thought I’d lost you.”

 

Loki’s heart races, a tidal wave of panic overcoming him. If he’s in his Jotunn form, his once hidden heritage lines must now be visible…..the same heritage lines that demarcate him as Helblindi’s brother.

 

Blood is rushing in his ears. He sits up abruptly, which, by the sudden flush of dizziness, proves to be a mistake.

 

“Shh, rest,” Thor says, easing Loki back. “You are still very weak. You must rest.”

 

Loki tries to calm himself. There is no trace of recognition in Thor’s eyes. He can’t read the patterns and swirls as a Jotunn could.

 

“I’ve never seen you like this,” Thor comments lightheartedly, still trying to smile even though he clearly doesn’t know what to make of Loki. The uncertainty rounds the hard edges of his face and makes him look much younger than his years. “It’s….different.”

 

“I…..” Loki starts, licking his dry lips. “May I have a glass of water?”

 

Thor nods and hands him a cool glass from the nightstand, and helps Loki sit up somewhat to drink. Loki accepts the glass shakily, and can only manage a few sips. The Casket taunts him from the end of the bed, pulsing its ancestral magic.

 

“How do you feel?” Thor asks softly, taking the cup after Loki has finished and petting Loki’s hair.

 

Loki lets out a huff of a laugh. There isn’t a word in any language Loki knows that can describe what he’s feeling.

 

“Tired,” Loki says at last.

 

“You almost died,” Thor frowns. “I was so worried.”

 

 _Were you?_ Loki wants to ask. _Tell me how much._

 

“Loki, it pains me to tell you this, but we have cause to believe you were poisoned at the feast. And….” Thor looks even more uncomfortable. “That the poison was targeted to you specifically.”

 

This bit of information hits Loki dully.

 

“Oh,” Loki says.

 

“I am still having the matter investigated,” Thor adds quickly. “We are yet unsure of who is behind this. But the perpetrators will be found. And you will have justice.”

 

It’s all Loki can do to just nod, glancing blearily at the Casket. He simply can’t bring himself to believe it is right _here_ , practically at his fingertips: The very thing Loki’s been obsessed with since embarking on this mission. The salvation of Jotunheim, and Loki’s ticket to freedom.

 

Loki looks back at Thor, then down to where he’s just noticed Thor’s hand is interlaced with his own. Golden-tan skin against blue.

 

 _You fool,_ Loki thinks sadly. _You stupid sentimental fool._

 

_What have you done?_

 

***

 

Loki’s recovery takes place in gradual increments. He spends most of his nights listlessly tossing about in bed, and, exhausted, finally finds sleep at daybreak. They keep the Casket near at hand, for it’s what the healers agree is best for Loki’s health. Loki can’t bring himself to draw near it. He’s unsure of what he might do...

 

Seeing his blue skin again is odd and takes some getting used to. He’d almost forgotten what he’d looked like in his natural state. But the changes are not just aesthetic: his hearing and sense of smell is sharper, and his vision is much better able to make out shapes in the dark of night. He’s just as he was before he’d been bleached by Helblindi’s sorcerers. But this grants him no comfort. If Loki thought of himself as something of an outsider before, it’s nothingcompared to the way he now sticks out amongst the pale-faced Aesir. His attendants, who’d served him dutifully for the past three years, stare at him like a strange, exotic curiosity. Which, Loki supposes he is.

 

All the while, Loki is hyperaware of his treacherous heritage lines. They used to be a source of great pride for him back home, where family ties and kin are everything. If Loki had been mated to Laufey, their children’s heritage lines would’ve read as almost purely royal, given that Loki himself is of royal stock. Even though Loki had no desire to have borne children for his uncle - blegh - there was a certain thrill in picturing one’s young bearing such fine, regal lines, unmarred by common blood. Loki used to be greatly admired for his own elegant lines, which linked him not only to the royal house of Jotunheim but also to his dam’s kin, and to the many generations of Jotnar nobility on that side of his family. In fact, his lines were once Loki’s greatest asset - aside from, of course, his purity and fortune. How ironic that now he wants nothing more than to hide them away...

 

Loki has never been so thankful for the Aesir’s obliviousness when it comes to Jotunn culture. It would be so obvious to any Frost Giant that he and Helblindi are brothers.

 

As it turns out, even the Casket’s transformative power has its limits. Loki soon learns that by moving far enough away from it, his skin will revert to its bleached state again. Not having his lines exposed puts Loki at ease, and so he’s the first to suggest that they move the Casket out of the Imperial bedroom to an adjoining room for safekeeping. His healers seem to find this an odd request, but to Loki’s relief, they humor him. And yet, even from the other room, he can hear the damn thing calling to him….as if it knows what his intentions are here in Asgard. It wants to go home.

The only even somewhat redeeming thing about all this is Thor. He hovers obsessively over Loki, equal parts concern and bewilderment. It’s funny to watch him pace around in a fret. No doubt the hunt for Loki’s would-be assassin has him on edge, and Loki knows he must be frothing at the mouth to wreck his revenge. He seems relieved to have the old, pale-faced Loki back, though. Loki’s not sure why that stings as much as it does.

 

In the dark of night, unable to sleep, Loki slips away from his and Thor’s shared bed. He can’t resist its call any longer. He has to see it up close. Upon drawing near, a cool frisson overcomes him, and once more he’s in his Jotun skin.

 

Loki always imagined it’d be bigger.

 

Loki’s fingertips skim reverently across the surface of the Casket, its energy singing beneath his azure skin, calling to him, awakening in him a longing for his homeland. Its elemental magic is undeniable and truly awe-inspiring. Loki can see why so many lives have been sacrificed in its name. In the right hands, its power is _limitless._

 

And that’s when he feels it: the smallest flutter in his belly, so faint Loki almost thinks it's his imagination. Confirming what he’d already begun to suspect.

 

Loki retracts his hand, then laughs darkly. No contraceptive in the world is effective against a runt in heat and a fertility god.

 

“Loki?”

 

Loki startles, whirling around to find Thor in the door frame clad in his nighttime robe and looking pleasantly rumpled. Loki’s heart pounds in his chest, much like a child who’s been caught stealing sweets in the dark of night.

 

“You should be resting.”

 

“I….” Loki licks his lips, clutching his own night robe tight around his stomach. “I just wanted to see it up close…”

 

Thor nods, coming closer, his face utterly unsuspecting. There’s a bit of hesitation in his step, as though he isn’t sure how to treat Loki now that he’s in his natural Jotun form.

 

“Does it help? Having it here?”

 

“Yes,” Loki answers cautiously, because it does, in ways Loki cannot articulate. Its restorative power is undeniable - enough to override Loki’s bleaching. Enough to cleanse his body of poison, and to strengthen the little being growing inside.

 

Thor chuckles. “To tell you the truth, I forgot I had it.”

 

A wave of bitterness crests over Loki, but he suppresses it just as quickly.

 

“I never thought I’d ever see it,” Loki confesses, and it’s the truth.

 

“Yes, we keep it secured away safely, hidden deep inside the moon of Dunyr. It is a very powerful artifact, and no doubt there are many who would try to acquire it for their own nefarious use.”

 

Loki just stares. He can’t believe Thor’s just told him that outright - offering that information up carelessly as though it were _nothing._

 

“Yes,” Loki eventually says, when the silence drags on a little too long and Thor looks like he’s expecting an answer. Then, in a smaller voice he adds, “Was it really wise to bring it here?”

 

“I had to save you,” Thor says simply.  

 

Loki exhales shakily, half a laugh and half a sob. He feels like he could cry.

 

Thor clears his throat, uncomfortable as ever in the face of Loki’s tears, and turns to leave. “Alright. Well... come back to bed when you are ready.”

 

“Thor?”

 

Thor stops, turning to face Loki from the doorway.

 

“Who was it that told you the Casket would heal me?”

 

“Ambassador Helblindi,” Thor says, then shoots Loki a rueful smile. “I suppose he turned out to be useful after all.”

 

Loki nods, and Thor departs, leaving Loki alone with the Casket of Ancient Winters.

 

 _Ambassador Helblindi_ , Loki thinks tiredly.

 

_Of course._

 

***

 

Loki rolls his shoulders back and stands to his full height, his hand clutched tightly around the handle of his cane. He hadn’t wanted to use it today, but Thor had insisted. Sometimes, he could really do without Thor’s coddling. He’s not an invalid. And he doesn’t like the way people whisper when he’s made to use it - like they are all keen to recall Loki’s little _accident._ The only thing that gives Loki some solace is knowing Thor had paid an unseemly amount for the emeralds in the handle.

 

Well, cane or no cane, Loki will be damned if he lets any weakness show.

 

Helblindi bows deeply at the foot of the dias of the audience chamber. Looking down at him from above doesn’t feel as gratifying as it usually does.

 

“His Majesty the King tells me I have you to thank for saving my life. For that you have my sincerest gratitude.” Loki says in a rush.”It was because of your advice I was able to stave off certain death.”

 

Helblindi’s eyes twinkle malevolently, like he knows Loki had lied to him about not being able to form a Bridge. They had not parted on good terms when last they met. The lies aren’t coming out so easily these days.

 

“It is an honour to be of service, even in just that small way. I am relieved to see you have recovered, Consort Loki.”

 

Recovered isn’t exactly the word Loki would use. He’s survived an assassination attempt, held the Casket of Ancient Winters in his very hands, and found he’s been knocked up by the King of Asgard. It’s been….quite the week.

 

“Yes,” is Loki’s flat response. “Thanks as well to the care and attention of His Majesty and his healers, to whom I owe an infinite debt.”

 

“They are saying it was an assassination attempt - how despicable. Poison is a coward’s tool.”

 

“I have many enemies,” Loki says coolly.

 

“Such is the burden of being the favourite of the King,” Helblindi says in that lofty, pretentious way of his. Smarmy bastard. “One who is so firmly ensconced in the king’s affections will always be the target of jealousy.”

 

Loki clutches his cane until his knuckles turn white. It’s the only thing that’s keeping him from beating Helblindi over the head with it.

 

“Have you any idea who has committed this dastardly deed?”

 

In truth, Loki can’t help but feel like the investigation is going much, much too fast, spurred into overdrive by Thor’s voracious appetite for vengeance.There are suspects, but the evidence against them is, in Loki’s opinion, rather paltry and circumstantial. It just doesn’t seem to line up.…but Loki isn’t about to tell Helblindi _that._

 

“His Majesty’s spies say that the assassin was likely among the party from Vanaheim. They have been detained for further questioning.”

 

“Mmmm. No doubt in retaliation for the deposition of lady Amora.”

 

“ _Mmmm,”_ Loki mimics sardonically. As if he needed to be reminded.

 

“I’ve no doubt His Majesty’s justice will be both swift and exacting. That is the only thing that gives me a semblance of comfort in these dark times, for I regret to inform you that I must depart for Jotunheim at sunrise tomorrow morning.”

 

This genuinely surprises Loki. He thought he’d never be rid of Helblindi - let alone _now,_ when so much is coming to a head…?

 

Helblindi goes on, “Though it pains me to leave your side at this critical moment, the climate here on Asgard has grown tense in light of recent events, and so I have been called back to Laufey-King’s court.”

 

“Oh,” Loki says, baffled. “I am...sorry to hear that, Ambassador.”

 

But then Helblindi’s voice in his head explains: _I am returning to Jotunheim to open the wormhole for you. I know that the Casket is still in Asgard, I can hear its call even as we speak. Bring it to me, and I will protect you from Thor’s wrath. With the Casket in Laufey’s hands, you will be safe. Thor will never violate you again._

 

 _“_ No one is more sorry than I,” Helblindi oozes. “But I have little doubt His Majesty will root out the perpetrators of this vile crime, and make them pay tenfold. Keep close to your master, for he shall protect and avenge you.”

 

Helblindi makes a show of approaching the dias, and places a kiss on Loki’s hand.

 

 _“_ Farewell Consort Loki - until we meet again. Prosperity and Fertility.”

 

_You have no excuses left._

 

***

 

Loki can’t eat. The sight of food makes him feel ill, and he’s not sure if it’s because of stress or because of his…..condition. He pushes his food around his plate aimlessly, even though it’s his favourite - fish and crab torte - and Thor had probably ordered it to stimulate Loki’s appetite.

 

“Is it not to your taste?”

 

“I have not much stomach lately,” Loki mumbles. Out of habit he reaches for his wine glass, but realizes at once that he probably shouldn’t be drinking. But then, if he’s going to get rid of it anyway, does it really matter?

 

Noting the worry on Thor’s face, Loki smiles and assures him, “I’m just still recovering, love. No need to worry.”

 

Thor looks unconvinced. “Did you like your new brooch?”

 

“I did, thank you,” answers Loki. He hasn’t the energy to go into fawning specifics about the beauty of the opals or the fine platinum filigree work. Not that it isn’t a beautiful piece - whoever Thor has selecting his gifts for him has exquisite taste. It’s just that Loki is so…. _tired._

 

Loki’s non-responsiveness perturbs Thor, which is why his gift-giving has become more generous of late: jewels and furs and silk, adding to Loki’s already ample collection. It’s something Thor does when he isn’t sure how to handle Loki’s moods. Loki usually delights in being spoiled but he’s too preoccupied to take much pleasure in anything right now. Thor’s chief means of problem-solving is throwing either money or brute force at them.

 

Which seems to be why he tries something altogether unheard of, for him: _talking._

 

Thor takes a knee.

 

“I’m sorry.” he says.

 

Loki just stares. “For what?”

 

“For not protecting you,” Thor says. “For not taking your misgivings seriously.”

 

Loki blinks. Thor has never, ever apologized to him before. For anything.

 

“I will root out those who did this to you and make them pay. They will beg for death before I am through with them. That is my vow to you, Loki….”

 

Loki can’t think of anything to say to that. The fact of his poisoning is something of an afterthought; vengeance isn’t exactly the first thing on his mind these days.

 

Alright,” Loki says.

 

Thor’s brow furrows. Evidently this wasn’t the response he was expecting. “Alright?”

 

“Thank you,” Loki tries instead.

 

Thor chews his lip. “Whatever punishment you see fit to enact, I will have it done. I would do it myself.”

 

Loki nods blearily. Ah yes, back to bashing away one’s problems with a hammer.

 

But Gods help him, Loki is thawed a little bit by Thor’s clumsy attempt at appeasement. He _is_ trying, in his own Thor-specific way. Loki kisses him half to shut him up and half because he wants to. It works well enough, and Thor eagerly reciprocates. It’s easier than having to say something, anyway.

 

***

 

“How are you feeling?” Thor asks, sometime later, as they are preparing for bed.

 

“Fine,” Loki answers absently as he combs through his hair, checking his brush for strands as he does so. He read once that Aesir women don’t shed their hair while they’re pregnant, and that they lose it in big clumps after giving birth - something to do with all the prenatal and postnatal hormones. Loki remembers going through puberty and wanting so badly for his hair to shed. When it didn’t, everyone knew for certain that Loki’s smaller-than-average frame wasn’t just a fluke - that he was, in fact, a runt. And Loki, bereft, had wept for the horns he’d never grow and the victories in battle he’d never claim.

 

After being in Asgard for so long, Loki now thinks he’d be horrified if all his hair fell out.

 

(The look on Thor’s face, though…!)

 

“ _Fine_ fine?” Thor asks. “Or…”

 

The word trails off into silence. Loki looks up at him through his vanity mirror. Thor is fidgety in his nighttime slippers, and his fingers tap restlessly on a nearby table. It becomes all-too apparent what he’s really asking. Loki has been either ill or recovering for the last two and a half weeks; that’s a long time to ask someone like Thor to go without sex.

 

It’s funny that he’s so tentative, though. It’s unlike him and almost endearing.

 

By now Loki’s heat has completely worn off and he’s absolutely not in the mood, but he’s willing to go along with it to please his master. The fact that Thor desires him still is not something to be taken for granted. There’d be long line of willing bedmates eager to take his place should Loki ever deny him.

 

“Quite fine,” Loki assures him, setting down his brush and beckoning to Thor with his best sultry smile. Thor comes gladly, like a happy dog, and envelops Loki in a firm embrace. They kiss and it’s nice, sweet even. Thor takes his time, and is delicate in his handling of Loki, except for the odd time when his hips buck impatiently against Loki’s. Thor likes to fuck and he likes to fuck rough, and Loki appreciates that he’s trying to hold himself back. His kisses are sweet, though. He’s a much better kisser than he used to be. Less bitey.

 

Loki is just starting to get into it when Thor breaks away.

 

“I was wondering if you would let me fuck you...”

 

“You really needn’t ask, darling,” Loki chuckles. Isn’t that what they were in the process of doing anyway? And besides, it’s not like Loki would ever say no.

 

“....In your Jotunn form,” Thor finishes.

 

Oh.

 

_Oh._

 

Loki, for a moment, is at a loss. He’d been certain Thor found his Jotunn colouring ugly. Monstrous. Or at least, distasteful.

 

Thor’s eyes are bright and hopeful. Loki can’t think of a good reason to refuse.

 

“Uh, alright,” Loki eventually stammers, and Thor smiles broadly and presses a firm kiss to his lips.

 

In short order Thor returns with the Casket, watching with rapt amazement as Loki’s skin reverts to its natural hue. Though the transformation is pleasurable Loki feels naked without his pale skin, doubly so now that his heritage lines are once again exposed. Though Loki knows Thor can’t read his heritage lines, the fear that Thor will spot some flourish that reminds him of Helblindi is insuppressible. All Loki’s lies, made tangible on his very face…

 

Loki ducks his head in hopes of passing off his apprehension as modesty, though it can’t be convincing. He’d long since cast off any semblance of virginal shyness. Thor gently grips Loki by the chin, inspecting Loki’s Jotunn face, tilting his head to and fro to catch the light.

 

“You look so different,” Thor comments, thoughtful. “And yet the same.”

 

Thor’s hands skim up to Loki’s shoulders, where he unlocks the clasps on Loki’s dress. Loki allows this placidly, neither helping nor pulling away. Whether or not Thor likes what he sees is still an open question. Right now Loki looks every bit the Frost Giant so many Asgardians mistrust and despise. The fact of Loki’s race was never any secret, but it was never made so terribly ostentatious either.

 

The material flutters away, leaving Loki nude, and Thor is fascinated. He traces the lines down Loki’s chest and over a purplish-hued nipple, making Loki shudder. The novelty of Loki’s blue skin must intrigue him, though Loki hopes not in a weird sexual way. The last thing Loki needs right now is for Thor to discover a new fetish.

 

“You’re beautiful,” Thor tells him.

 

Again, not what Loki was expecting. He knows that back on Jotunheim he’d be considered a great beauty, though he didn’t think Thor would think so.

 

“Thank you,” he mumbles.

 

“I’ve never seen a Frost Giant that looks like you.”

 

Loki frowns. No, he wouldn’t have. Loki’s kind don’t exactly parade their runts around in front of foreigners. The only scenario in which Loki could see a runt like him encountering Thor is if he were presented to him as spoils of war.

 

Thor’s hands skim lower and begin to rub at Loki.

 

“I can see why one such as you would be so highly prized.” Thor breathes. “Your skin is as cool and smooth as marble…”

 

 _He’s turned on by this,_ Loki realizes, stupefied. _He likes this._

 

Then, an even more ludicrous notion: _I’m about to be fucked in the presence of my people’s most holy relic._

 

“You’re so shy,” Thor comments, and Loki has to hold back a snort. Given the circumstances, he isn’t exactly in the mood to play sex kitten tonight.

 

“I just find it strange to be in this form again,” Loki says, hoping that will distract Thor from the fact that he’s not at all becoming aroused by his ministrations. “I was told the Aesir wouldn’t find it….appealing. That’s why I was bleached.”

 

“Who told you that?”

 

Loki chews his lip, considering whether to lie, but settles on the truth: “My brother. Before he sold me.”

 

Thor’s face darkens. “Well, he was wrong. I like you in whatever form you take.”

 

Loki wonders just how much Thor means that, because unless Loki takes quick action, soon enough he’ll start to swell and grow heavy with child, and his form will take on quite a new shape indeed. He’s already starting to feel puffy, and in a few weeks his silk dresses will be too tight to wear.

 

Helblindi always said Thor wouldn't want a child who is half Jotunn, even if it is by Loki.  Why would he? Loki is not his queen, and though their child would be royal it would not be legitimate. Loki isn’t even sure what color it would be. Blue - Loki’s natural color - or pale? Or greyish? Would it have heritage lines, linking it to Loki’s ancestral house? To Thor’s?

 

Despite this, Loki feels strangely attached to it. It represents the merging of two royal bloodlines, after all - even if half of its lineage must remain a secret. But more importantly, this child would be naturally gifted in seidr, likely even outmatching Loki’s own magical endowments. Loki had long thought his and Thor’s magics were complementary. Diametric, yes, but operating in harmony. It would be fascinating to see whether these two streams of seidr could coexist in one being. Imagine, Thor’s raw power with Loki’s razor-like precision. Loki could teach the child to hone its natural gifts, and become skilled in the arts of illusion and destruction. Such a being would truly be worthy of sitting upon the throne of Asgard!

 

Idle fantasies, really. Loki’s child would never inherit the throne. And, being born of a slave, it would also inherit Loki’s status. It might be doted on, even loved by its father, but that doesn’t change the fact that it could be discarded on a whim should Thor’s future queen will it.

 

Still, it would be a shame to be rid of it.

 

Abruptly, Loki is snapped back to reality as Thor inserts two fingers in his cunt. As if on autopilot, Loki takes Thor’cock in hand and begins stroking him. Best to get on with it.

 

Thor must’ve been more worked up than Loki imagined, because it only takes a few strokes before he’s had enough foreplay and is ready to move onto the main event. Loki lays back on the bed as he is prompted and obediently parts his thighs in invitation. Thor is on him at once, and thankfully doesn’t seem to notice Loki’s lack of interest. Thor’s cock juts out proudly, as if it knew that it had created Loki’s present predicament. Loki remembers how intimidating it looked when he’d first seen it, how he hadn’t been sure it would even fit inside him. It certainly fits inside him now. Thor slings one of Loki’s long legs over his shoulder as they begin to fuck, and, not for the first time, Loki is surprised to see his blue skin contrasted against Thor’s fair colouring.

 

Loki muses that this is the first time he _should’ve_ had, when he and Thor had first fucked some three years before. Here, in Thor’s bed, in Loki’s natural form.

 

This entire situation so profoundly outrageous that Loki finds it impossible to become aroused, let alone come. Thor, however, is having the time of his life, pumping in and out of Loki’s pliant body and panting Loki’s name hotly against his neck. Loki wishes he’d just hurry up and finish. He does his best to encourage Thor to this end, mostly by locking his legs around Thor’s waist and undulating his hips upwards to meet Thor’s thrusts. By now Thor’s forgotten to be gentle, and he drives his cock hard up into Loki, jerking him forwards every time. Having been Thor’s concubine for so long, Loki’s grown used to Thor’s rough handling. Vaguely, he remembers how much he’d enjoyed it during his heat. Loki welcomes it again now, because he knows it means Thor will soon climax.

 

Thor does, spectacularly, and after riding out the rest of his orgasm, he goes limp as a fish atop Loki’s smaller frame. His skin is so damned hot, Loki can hardly believe there was a time when he didn’t find it unbearable to be pressed so tightly against him. It’s _smothering_. Mercifully, Thor soon rolls off, shooting Loki a loopy grin, and is asleep shortly thereafter.

 

***

 

Loki doesn’t sleep. It’s hard to relax with that _thing_ still in here, throbbing its primordial energy. Loki peels Thor’s arm off him and slinks out of bed, as if drawn by the tug of invisible strings. The Casket is singing to him, singing.

 

It would be so easy to take it and run.

 

Loki needs only to summon a wormhole and have Helblindi bring him through to the other side. In just a few minutes and he could be home, where his fortune and his freedom await. He could slip away hours before anyone would realize he’s missing. He could be so deep in Jotunheim by morning he may as well have fallen off the Bifrost.

 

Loki imagines Thor waking to find him gone….to find the _Casket_ gone. Thor is not a stupid man, he would certainly but two and two together.  A Jotunn runtling who disappears the same night as the Casket of Ancient Winters? It’s laughable that Thor would leave the Casket alone with someone like Loki - a slave of an enemy race, and a witch at that.

 

It’d be what he deserves, after all, for the way he’s treated Loki in the past. Loki may be Thor’s consort but he’s still technically a slave. Thor has never officially freed him, nor has he made any indication that he ever would. And Thor would certainly never marry him. In fact, it’s becoming more and more obvious that if he stays in Asgard, Loki will soon see Thor married to someone else. Thor has no other option if he’s to sire a legitimate heir. And so long as Loki’s true royal lineage remains a secret - which it has to, indefinitely - Loki will never be Thor’s queen.

 

All these things rouse feelings of bitterness in Loki. Thor is difficult.  Other times he’s oblivious. And sometimes he’s downright mean. Loki could easily picture him throwing a temper tantrum at Loki’s escape, cursing and seething and carrying-on like the brat he is, trashing their shared apartment, and vowing revenge on his betrayer. He certainly would come after Loki, maybe even start a war, though he would not get far with the Casket in Laufey’s hands.

 

The thought is almost satisfying. That for once in Thor’s life, he wouldn’t be able to get what he wants. That he would finally realize Loki is no slave, not his property. That Loki is not his to control.

 

But.

 

If he’s being honest with himself, Loki doesn’t truly think that’s what would happen. What Loki believes, deep down, is that in running away, he would break Thor’s heart.

 

Loki quickly glances back at Thor, still sleeping in their shared bed, blissfully unaware of the tumult in Loki’s mind. Thor: his lover, his mate. His _owner,_ and the father of his child.

 

Thor is difficult, it’s true. He frustrates Loki all the time, especially by refusing to assign Loki any meaningful duties at court. He occasionally forgets himself and orders Loki like a servant; accustomed, as he is, to always getting his way. He has a limitless sexual appetite, and he gets demanding and grabby when he’s drunk. 

 

It takes all of Loki’s patience to deal with him, so much so that it’s often hard to restrain himself from blasting Thor with a bolt of magic.

 

But he _does_ try to be better, Loki has to concede. He’s never struck Loki, which is more than Loki can say about Helblindi. Thor doesn’t mistreat him or purposefully belittle him. He’s easy enough to bring to heel (Bit of exaggerated hobbling on his ankle usually does the trick). He’s granted Loki the trappings of respectability. Gone are the days when Loki was made to parade himself about in skimpy costumes for the titillation of the court. He sits at Thor’s side - not stands as an attendant would, nor does he kneel as would a slave.

 

Most incredibly, to Loki’s knowledge, Thor doesn’t sleep around behind his back. Thor has every opportunity to fuck whomever he wants, however he wants, and there wouldn’t be a single thing Loki could do about it. Loki hardly expected Thor to be faithful to him for a single year, let alone three. Since becoming Consort, Loki has been bracing himself for the inevitable whispers that Thor was getting his fill of ass on the side. But to his shock, such rumors never materialized.

 

Indeed, Thor must care about him - enough to be faithful, even. Enough to let Loki sleep in his bed in the place of a true queen. Enough to turn down alliance after alliance so that Loki wouldn’t have to watch him be wed to someone else. He’d committed to being a better man on Loki’s account. Loki had seen it himself from within Thor’s memory. And here Loki is, contemplating betrayal.

 

Loki sniffs, wiping the back of his eyes with the sleeve of his robe. He can’t pinpoint when things got so damn messy. He remembers a time when being alone with the Casket would bring nothing but pure gleeful elation. But now that Loki’s faced with it, all he feels is misery.

 

Then, as if things could be any more complicated, there’s the little matter of...well.

 

Loki had resigned himself to the fact that at some point, he’d have to bear his master’s offspring. Whether it was Laufey, or Ulfr, or whoever Helblindi selected for him, it really wouldn’t have mattered. But, that was predicated on the fact that his master would _want_ children by Loki. With Thor, Loki is not so sure. A child will complicate things. And it won’t endear him to Thor: Thor has bastards by other women, estranged after Thor had fallen out with their mothers. Though Loki knows they receive yearly stipends for their upkeep, it doesn't change the fact that Thor had exiled them to make way for Loki.

 

Thor will reject the child. Thor might even tell Loki to get rid of it before it starts to plump up Loki’s otherwise trim figure. He’ll have no use for a child by Loki. It will interfere with Loki’s ability to satisfy Thor sexually. It will make Loki fat and unattractive, and loosen him up so he isn’t as tight a fuck as before. Thor will get mad, probably, that Loki didn’t take proper care to keep this from happening in the first place. Thor wouldn’t care about heritage lines or diametric magics.

 

The more Loki tells himself this the more he begins to believe it. That way, when Thor flies into a rage at the news, Loki won’t be able to say he’s surprised. It will confirm every awful thing Loki has ever believed of him. It's the only way Loki can picture himself leaving.

 

Loki lets out a shaky breath. That’s it, then. He’ll tell Thor, and after the inevitable ensuing fight, Loki will take off with the Casket and start his life fresh, far away from Asgard and its heartless King. Loki could then spend the rest of his life on his isolated estate. He couldn’t possibly keep the child - he’d have to leave it out on the cliffs to die. But, such would be the cost of severing his ties to Asgard. Loki’s kind do it all the time to rid themselves of weak, sickly, or burdensome younglings.

 

Loki could then set about outfitting a proper library, practising his magic and becoming a formidable seidr-wielder. He’d hide himself away, so no one could ever hurt him again. He’d be free of Helblindi, and of Thor. Just as he always wanted. And that will be that….

 

Yes.

 

That will be that.

 

Loki peels himself away from the Casket and pads back to bed, where Thor is still peacefully snoring. He climbs back in and settles into the downy mattress. Sleep, however, never comes.

 

***

 

Telling Thor proves easier said than done. Not helping is the way Thor thunders into their shared apartments at night, his countenance stormy and his hand tightening around Mjolnir’s handle as if in anticipation of meteing out vengeance at any moment. The investigations into the assassination are going nowhere, and Loki can tell he’s getting frustrated. His obsessiveness quickly becomes tiresome, to the point that Loki begins to tune out anytime he talks about it.

 

At least Thor is easy enough to distract. All it takes is a temptingly cocked hip or strategic bit of exposed flesh. Loki’s still too preoccupied to get off on the sex that results (for the most part) but it has the blessed effect of shutting Thor up and putting him to sleep afterward.

 

In the afterglow of these sessions, Loki considers saying it. He envisions the words slipping off his tongue, though he agonizes over the best way to phrase it:

 

_Thor, I am pregnant._

 

_Thor, I think I am pregnant._

 

_I am carrying your child..._

 

_Thor, you brainless oaf, you knocked me up during my heat. Thanks a lot._

 

But by the time Loki has worked up the nerve to go through with it, Thor is asleep and snoring.

 

The days tick by with Loki stuck in limbo. He hems and haws and dawdles, waiting for just the right time, _the perfect moment,_ when in reality Loki knows he’s procrastinating because he fears what Thor might say.

 

It’s on a sunny midday that Loki is suddenly (and unpleasantly) spurred into action. The servants bring his lunch to him at around noon, as is usual. But as soon as they pull the cloche off the food platter, the gamey smell of venison is so decidedly unappealing that Loki knows he’s going to hurl - this time, for reasons entirely unrelated to being poisoned.

 

With an impressive amount of calm, Loki excuses himself and makes haste towards his private washroom, where he then proceeds to throw up his previously-consumed breakfast of tea, eggs and fruit.

 

“Damn,” Loki says, spitting out a wad of gooey bile. Nothing drives reality home quite like that first bout of morning sickness. And here he’d been hoping he’d be free of such a cursed affliction…...Fate has chosen not to be kind to him, even in this.

 

He’s running out of time. Soon his symptoms will become so obvious the palace healers will be sicced on him, and his secret will be revealed without Loki having the chance to tell Thor himself.

 

That won’t do. Loki will just have to think of a way to work up the courage without (regrettably) the aid of alcohol. Sigh.

 

***

 

Loki finds Thor in his private study. It’s a happy coincidence, for Loki knows Thor usually likes to spend time in there alone, without his usual cohort of attendants and courtiers.

 

“Thor, I….”

 

Loki freezes at the door. Thor is most certainly not alone.

 

Loki struggles to place the man who looms over Thor’s shoulder. He seems so... familiar. The man is deathly pale, with a gaunt, greenish hue to his skin, and beady eyes that immediately lock onto Loki’s.

 

It dawns on Loki all at once: this is the gaoler from the Underground, whom Loki had met on the eve of Thor’s Coronation.

 

For a brief, nonsensical moment, Loki panics: _He’s come for me._ Loki has never shaken the worry that his real secret will be exposed - the one that would truly damn him. Quickly Loki checks Thor’s face, and is relieved to find that this probably isn’t the case. At times like these, Loki thinks his past will haunt him until the end of his days.

 

Thor looks up at him from where he’d been hunched over some important-looking documents. He sits back, his lips pulling into a grim smile.

 

“Hello Lokes,” he says, the endearment incongruous will the overwhelming tension in the room.

 

“My King,” Loki responds with a slight bow, having unconsciously shifted into _good behaviour mode_ under the gaoler’s scrutiny. “Am I interrupting?”

 

“Not at all, we are finished.” Though Thor’s gaze softens when he looks at Loki, the steely resolve in his eyes sends a terrible chill down Loki’s spine. “This is my Imperial Gaoler,” he says, as if Loki didn’t already know that.

 

The man bows his head in acknowledgement. “Consort Loki.”

 

Loki stiffens at the mocking gleam in the gaoler’s eye. He remembers Loki too.

 

Something about all this just seems...off.

 

“What’s he doing here?”

 

“Do not trouble yourself, my pet. We are through.” Thor waves the man off. The gaoler collects the documents, bows deeply, and leaves.

 

“This is about…” Loki starts, but it’s obvious enough. “You’re holding the Vanir prisoners Underground?”

 

By the way his eyebrows shoot up, Thor seems taken aback at this comment. Then he sighs.

 

“I said, don’t trouble yourself. It doesn’t involve you.”

 

Loki immediately resents his patronizing tone. “The crime was perpetrated against my person,” he insists. “I think it involves me.”

 

Thor makes a non-committal noise. His evasiveness is making Loki uneasy. Thor was never good at being deceitful.

 

Loki tries again: “What are you going to do?”

 

“I am going to get to root out the perpetrators. As I said I would.”

 

“By what means? Interrogation?” Loki says. _Torture?_ \- he thinks, but has not the nerve to say aloud. Loki knows that such extremes are not off limits even in oh-so civilized Asgard. He’d heard the screams for himself that night he’d spent in the Underground….

 

Thor shoots him a look. “You’re awfully concerned with your prospective murderers’ well-being.”

 

“There is not enough evidence to call them that. Thor, I can’t explain why, but have the suspicion that the Vanir prisoners are not the culprits you seek. I simply can’t believe they would undertake such a crime at their own banquet, right under our very noses, jeopardizing the peace they’ve fought for so long to establish.”

 

Thor just shrugs, taking his tankard in hand. “We’ll see,” he mutters into his ale.

 

Loki studies Thor carefully. The uneasy feeling intensifies.

 

“What do you mean _we’ll see?_ Thor, what do you mean to do?”

 

Thor’s countenance changes then. He affixes his gaze on Loki: a look so utterly cold and devoid of compassion that Loki stops breathing.

 

“I am going to get a confession,” he says. “And if none of them will give me one, the lot will be executed for treason against Asgard.”

 

“Thor,” Loki breathes. “ _No.”_

 

Thor just grumbles, and takes a swig of ale. “I knew you’d be upset.”

 

“Those Vanir are guests in our Realm,” Loki stammers. “I understand your need to uncover the poisoner’s plot and exact vengeance, but to resort to such extreme tactics? Thor, you are letting your rage cloud your judgement.”

 

“The order has been signed; it is done. It’s not your place to question me, Loki.”

 

“I’m not,” Loki says evenly (though he is), “I just think that if you act rashly, Vanaheim may respond in kind, and repercussions against Asgard could result.”

 

“Yes, I know. It is _I_ who is king, not you. And it is I who shall face those repercussions. You should be pleased that I go to such lengths, for you.”

 

“Mercy, Thor, please,” Loki says softly. “Do not act recklessly for my sake. For if you order the torture and execution of innocent prisoners, without a trial or just cause, it will only bring you that much closer to becoming the tyrant you yourself fear and despise.”

 

It’s the first time Loki’s ever acknowledged what he saw in Thor’s mind during the Bridge. He’s not sure Thor even knows the extent of what he’d seen, or that Loki had been able to hear his thoughts through the memory. Well - he knows now. And evidently, it strikes a nerve.

 

“I do this for you! To bring you justice!” Thor shouts, his face contorting into an ugly snarl. “You realize why this has happened, don’t you? Because I refuse to take another while I have you by my side! Would you prefer that I open my harem once again? Hmm? Accept new beauties from across the realms and succumb to my ministers’ needling? Just as I have raised you up, I can cast you down. For surely you would not have been made a target if you were but one in a thousand.”

 

Loki falls silent. His face burns hot and his eyes begin to well. Before he knows it he’s on his feet, rushing towards the door.

 

“Loki, wait -”

 

Unthinkingly, Loki’s feet carry him to the chambers in which the Casket is being held. Upon entering he shivers, his eyes squeezing closed, and when he opens them again he’s donned his natural blue form. He whirls around and casts a spell at the door, locking it from the inside.

 

Forget the plan. Fuck it all. Fuck Thor. Fuck fuck fuck. If Thor can snap his fingers and have a thousand beauties instantly at his beck and call, then he’ll surely not miss Loki. Let Thor rape and torture and kill; Loki will not be the one to stop him. Loki was a fool to believe Thor could ever be a good man.

 

“Loki, open the door,” Thor is shouting. He bangs so hard the wood rattles, but Loki’s spell is firm, and Loki knows there is no way he’ll be able to pierce its defenses without using Mjolnir to simply bash the whole thing down.

 

Loki seizes the Casket then, and savors the wash of elemental power that ripples over him. With the Casket in hand, it would only take a few seconds to call forth a wormhole and have Helblindi bring Loki through it. His dear brother is surely deep within Jotunheim’s frozen wastes by now, awaiting Loki’s signal with baited breath….

 

Thor’s voice now sounds very muted and faraway indeed. It’s a very serious matter to disobey him like this, but Loki doesn’t care.

 

 _He deserves this,_ Loki thinks spitefully. _Monster._

 

Something tugs in Loki’s chest then; he has a sudden premonition that if he were to leave now, there would be nothing left to hold Thor back from his darker impulses. Loki knows first-hand how cruel Thor can be. If Loki did not stand up to him, he’s not sure who else would.

 

Loki doesn’t know why he picks this particular moment to say it. Call it a bout of madness, or a surge of hormones, or even an act of self-sabotage. All Loki knows, is that if Thor fails this one last test, Loki will not suffer his presence a single second longer, consequences be damned..

 

“I’m pregnant.”

 

The banging stops. There is a long pause, in which Loki can only hear the rabbit-fast hammering of his heart.

 

“What?”

 

“I’m pregnant,” Loki says again, more softly this time. His voice cracks, and Loki hates how weak it makes him sound.

 

Silence.  

 

“Are you joking?”

 

“No, I am not joking!” Loki shouts hysterically. “Why would I be joking at a time like this?”

 

Another long silence.

 

“That’s wonderful, Loki,” comes the eventual muffled reply. “Can you please open the door so we can talk?”

 

Loki’s throat constricts, and his entire body sags.

 

“You’re happy?”

 

“Of course I’m happy,” comes the response, “Though I very much wish you’d open the door.”

 

Loki shakes his head, tears streaming down his face. His masterful tongue fails him. The silence must drag on for a good long while, because eventually Thor says, “Did you think I wouldn’t be?”

 

“I don’t know,” Loki answers. Then, more quietly he adds, “Yes.”

 

“ _Loki,”_ Thor says, so honeyed Loki could almost forget everything that transpired mere moments before. “Of course I want a child by you. Why wouldn’t I? Do you even know how much I care for you?”

 

 _Yes,_ Loki’s mind supplies. _Enough to kill._

 

“Do you really mean that?”

 

“I do.”

 

Mustering his frayed nerves, Loki calls out, “I’ll not raise my child with a tyrant for a father. So if you intend on proceeding in the current vein, I’d rather know now, so I can stop it before it gets any further.”

 

Loki can vividly picture Thor’s stunned expression at this very moment. It makes him feel almost…..powerful.

 

“You know what I mean,” Loki threatens.

 

“Loki, enough. Open the door.”

 

“No! I’ll not have innocent blood spilt on my account. Do you hear me?” Growing bolder, Loki presses: “I need you to promise me you’ll not forsake the vow I heard you make from within that memory. The vow you made to be the kind of man your mother would’ve been proud to call her son. For that is the only condition under which I will bear a child for you.”

 

There is a very long, palpable silence, and Loki worries he’s gone too far. But, he’s committed.

 

“Your word, Thor! Retract the order. Please.” More softly, he says, “Do it for me.”

 

“Alright! Alright, Loki, peace. You have my word.”

 

Though Loki can’t see him, he sounds sincere. A promise made to a slave has no worth, but he has never known Thor to break oath with anyone, regardless of rank.

 

Trembling, Loki sets the Casket back down on its pedestal. The action feels final, and Loki now knows for certain that his decision has been made. A kind of peace settles upon him then - a peace that has evaded him for many, many years. His path has been set before him at last. It won’t be easy, that’s certainly true, but at least Loki now knows where his future lies. In that moment, Loki allows the last of the ties that bound him to Jotunheim to wither away and die.

 

The banging at the door has now devolved into soft raps.

 

“Loki, can you open the door please.”

 

With a fortifying sigh, Loki lifts the spell from the door. Thor opens it gently instead of barging in like Loki expects. The look on his face is something like bewilderment. He truly has no idea…

 

They lock eyes: Loki’s weary red with Thor’s apprehensive blue. Loki doesn’t miss the way Thor’s gaze quickly darts to his stomach and back again.

 

“I will hold you to it, I hope you know,” Loki says, curling his arms even tighter around himself.

 

“Yes.” Thor agrees. “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still a few chapters to go, and little Loki isn't out of the woods yet. Stay tuned :)

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed! xoxox 
> 
> teresa-dances-in-sequins.tumblr.com


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